


The Unstoppable Force

by District_7_Profanity



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, F/F, Film Adaptation, Joniss - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-12 21:36:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2125482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/District_7_Profanity/pseuds/District_7_Profanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU Joniss version of the film "Imagine Me And You."</p><p>Is there really such a thing as love at first sight? And what happens when someone else is there first?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wedding

My mother never spoke of love in the way you see in the movies. She never waxed poetic on finding a Prince Charming or never settling for someone you didn't love passionately. She didn't speak of love at all. She lived it.

My father was a working-class man from a lumber yard out in the boondocks, my mother a debutante from the capital city. They met as teenagers, fell madly in love over a summer, and spent every day together until he passed away. He died a few days shy of my twenty-first birthday, two semesters before I finished college, when he was fifty. A heart attack caused by an enlarged heart and clogged arteries. My mother said it was because his heart was too full of love. I'd venture to say it was too full of fried chicken and cigarettes, but her theory is what has gotten her through the last three years. Far be it for me to disrupt her dreams.

For me, love has been shaped and shaded by my upbringing and my chosen occupation as a florist. An occupation I fell into after getting my business degree and realizing I'd rather get nicks from thorns than papercuts. As my mother would say, "I can't stay clean for five minutes." I like dirt. I like making things grow. I'm a chump for beautiful things.

I've seen all kinds of love come into my corner store. The new love of lilies and daffodils, the old love of pansies and hydrangeas, the passionate love of roses. I've seen the desperation of men on their last leg with their wives, the sparkling newness of brides-to-be obsessing over colors and scents, and the depression of lonely hearts seeking to liven up their studio apartments. Something pretty to stare at as they tuck into their microwave dinner for one. You can be in love with your loneliness, too.

Weddings are by far my favorite thing in which perform my duties. I don't get requests to do them often, maybe twice a year, but I enjoy the pomp and circumstance of a well put together wedding. The cheesy stuff is kind of lost on me but I don't mind watching others.

The Mellark-Everdeen wedding was bizarre right from the start. I didn't meet the bride, oddly enough. The groom, an affable man around my age named Peeta Mellark, came into my shop looking for a small plant for his desk at work. We hit it off right off the bat, one thing led to another, and suddenly I was booked to do his wedding to a woman named Katniss Everdeen. Usually I'd ask for the bride's input as well - I've been on the receiving end of one too many bridezillas before - but he seemed to be particularly knowledgeable about the colors and shapes of flowers, so I disregarded it.

On the day of the nuptials I arrive early to decorate the church and the reception area. Churches kind of bum me out but I like placing the arrangements on the pews. Leaving my mark on the holy place that, upon entry, I'm always surprised doesn't incinerate me. Peeta chose earth tones, not the usual pink and purple and yellow. He likes orange and she likes green, so it is a subdued wedding of white, green, crimson red, and sunset orange. My last duty before I excuse myself for the ceremony is to present the bride with her bouquet. In lieu of some grand gesture I usually just leave it on a table in the bride's dressing area and take off. Sometimes I hang around the reception and drink; a few times I've snagged myself a drunk bridesmaid on the way out. Today, however, when I let myself into the dressing area, the bride is still in there. Alone.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," I apologize, my normally pale skin flushing an embarrassing shade of beet red. The bride is in a state of half-dress; the long zipper on the back of her gown is down to the top of her butt, exposing the muscled flesh of her back.

The brunette turns and gazes at me in surprise with expressive gray eyes. I'm sure I've never seen that color before - like a pale blue storm cloud. "Oh, it's okay." The ease of politeness gives way to uncertainty. "Wait, who are you?"

"I, uh, I'm your florist, Johanna Mason," I explain, uncharacteristically stumbling over my words. I have always been able to talk to women, but those storm cloud eyes have rendered me completely useless. "I was here to give you your bouquet." I thrust my hands toward her, practically shoving the bouquet into her torso. She removes her hands from the back of her dress and takes the flowers from me.

"Thank you, Johanna Mason. They're lovely."

I smile. "Thanks. Your husband has good taste." _In women and in flowers._ I clear my throat. "Do you, um, want some help?"

"Yes," she practically groans out. Oh, the dirty thoughts that are stampeding through my mind at the sexy husk of her voice. That's not professional. _Get yourself together, Mason_. She faces her back to me. "I can't get this fucking zipper up for the life of me. My mother and my sister are off getting their make-up retouched and I'm in here trying to fit into this godforsaken gown with no help."

An usually high-pitched giggle escapes my lips as I take the zipper in my hand. I brace my other hand on the small of her back and out of my peripheral vision I see her sneak a glance over her shoulder at me. Without thought I lick my lips and drag the zipper up agonizingly slow, allowing my wide brown eyes to drink in every subtle curve of her back muscles as they tense beneath my touch.

Don't judge me. _She_ is the one getting married, not me.

Once I finish she turns around to face me. I swear, for a few moments the Earth ceases to move. She is breathtakingly beautiful. Olive skin with little freckles on her cheeks. Those eyes that whole sonnets could've been written about. A shy smile that crinkles the corner of her mouth. Our eyes meet shyly. Only one word comes to mind about how I feel. Thunderstruck. As if she's pulled back on a bow and shot me in the heart like Cupid. For a few moments, it feels like she did.

The loud opening of the door behind me startles me physically and I jump several inches backward until my ass hits a nearby table. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you'd have company, Katniss." An older woman, blonde hair and pale blue eyes, walks in behind me with a smaller girl almost identical to her in appearance, maybe forty years younger.

"Katniss," I murmur quietly, but my voice is picked up by her. Katniss looks at me with narrowed eyes. A smirk finds its way on to my face. "Like the root." Her eyes roll. With a peculiar name like Katniss, I imagine she's had a lifetime of being picked on and teased about it. "That's a beautiful name. Most plants have stories to tell, like the lily or the rose. Katniss roots survive everything. Wise, and quiet." Her cheeks dimple as she smiles. She's getting to be too much for me so I turn around to leave. "

The little blonde bounds past me to be near Katniss, who looks down at her with a fond smile. "What do they say about primrose?" Katniss asks to my turned back. I whirl my attention to what I assume is her little sister. I grin at the tiny blonde and she smiles back. Her two plaited braids fall over her shoulders, framing her oval, freckled face. For sisters they don't look a damn thing alike. She reminds me more of Peeta, actually. Like a dandelion in the spring. Maybe she is his little sister.

"Is that your name? Primrose?" The girl nods eagerly. "That's truly lovely." She smiles a toothy grin with one wide gap near the front. Is she still young enough to be losing teeth? Must be a change of life baby, because Katniss looks to be around my age. "The primrose means 'I can't live without you.'" With a mind of their own, my eyes meet Katniss's instead of little Prim's. We both blush.

Her sparkling blue eyes light up excitedly. "Do penguins have knees?"

My confused look makes Katniss laugh, a beautiful laugh that rings in my ears. The eldest Everdeen looks down at her and smiles patiently. These out of the blue questions must be typical. "Um, well yeah. It helps them to swim. You just can't see them because they always have so much fat and fur and the waddle like this." I imitate as best I can the waddle of a penguin, short of pulling my pants to my thighs like Dick Van Dyke in "Mary Poppins."

Like I said, I can talk to women. Even little ones. Primrose is no exception. "Can you sit with me at the wedding?"

The three of us share awkward glances before I bring my attention back to Primrose. "I'm not coming to the wedding, kiddo. But I'll be at the reception, so if you want to find me, you can, okay?" Raising my eyes, I glance at Katniss who is staring at me something fierce. Something about the way her eyes study me is making me feel both intimidated and exhilarated. Like I'm back in high school, gazing longingly at my first crush down the hallway.

"What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?" I blink away from Katniss back to Primrose.

"For Heaven's sake Prim, please stop with all the questions," Mrs. Everdeen replies tiredly, crossing the room away from her daughter to examine the forgotten bouquet on the table.

Kneeling down to Prim's height, I help straighten out tiara of flowers in her hair. "It can't happen. You see, if there's an unstoppable force, then there can't possibly be something that can't move. They can't both exist. It never happens. The answer is that it's a trick question. A paradox. No outcome is perfect." Prim seems satisfied with my answer so I give the other two Everdeen women a nod and head out.

"Congratulations," I say as I walk out backwards, closing the door behind me.

I lean against the door and let out a long exhale. Am I really about to lust after a woman who is minutes away from being married? Am I actually that foolish? And do I really think that this woman, about to be wed to a guy even I like, is possibly looking at me the same way? The answer to all those questions is a resounding, embarrassingly loud yes. I'm foolish and impulsive when it comes to love.

But very rarely am I wrong.

* * *

The reception is wonderful. The place is filled with beautiful decorations that include my flowers, attractive bridesmaids, and a killer band. As essentially one of the "help" I wander around the outdoor dance area, trying to be useful but also trying my best to keep an eye on Katniss. Primrose has not found me yet; she is busy being danced to death by Peeta's best man, a devastatingly handsome man named Finnick Odair.

I find Katniss alone near the punch bowl, swirling the ladle around but not catching any liquid inside. Her wedding dress is stunning, the feathery fabric just barely scraping the ground as she walks. The corset bodice is hugging her sides and accentuating what I imagine to be a phenomenal figure underneath, if the preview of her back I got earlier is any indication.

"Whatcha doin'?" I ask in a playful tone. The look of outright horror and guilt on her face takes me by surprise. I feign seriousness and lean in toward her. "Did you spike the punch, Mrs. Mellark?"

"I dropped my ring." I glance at her quizzically and she grunts in frustration. "It's still Everdeen, by the way, and I dropped my ring in the punch bowl."

I can't help the stream of snickers that erupt from my mouth. "Well, I'm here to help, right? Cover me." I stand behind her, partially shrouded by her dress, and roll up my sleeve. Sticking my arm into the punch bowl, I attempt to fish out the offending gold band.

"You can't just stick your hand in - oh, okay, you already did." Katniss sounds panicked and I grin to myself as she tries to shield me from the rest of the wedding guests.

"Katniss Everdeen, I thought white was the color of virgins," a sultry voice says from over my back. "I think that you and I know Peeta a little better than that." I roll my eyes at the voice. What a rude, gross thing to say to a woman on her wedding day.

"Oh Finnick. The old jokes really are the best, aren't they?" Katniss snarks back.

"I just wanted to get some punch. I'm talking to a sweet redhead over there and I need to grease the wheels, so to speak." He's talking with his mouth full, I notice as I continue my hunt. "Have you tried the chocolate dipped strawberries? They're so sweet. I had to grab them."

Finally I fish the ring from what seems like a never-ending punch bowl. From behind her, I take Katniss's hand in mine and slowly slide the ring on her finger. Wiping my hands on my pants, I emerge from behind her and settle my gaze on Finnick as he appraises me.

He extends his hand to me. "The name's Finnick. I'm Peeta's best man. But you can call me whatever you'd like." His dimples go even deeper than Katniss's, but that seems to be about it as far as depth is concerned for the man.

Inwardly, I groan. But I enjoy a good flirt so I wink back and shake his hand. "And I'm sure I will."

"This is Johanna Mason," Katniss interrupts, on the edge of being too stern. "She did the flowers."

"Did you? Well they're very nice. But if you don't mind." He squeezes in between us and pours himself a small glass of punch. "I have an _A Little Mermaid_ fantasy that little redhead over there and I need to act out tonight." Finnick sways his hips as he walks away, singing, " _Under the sheets, under the sheets. Everything's better, down where's wetter, take it from me_."

"Thank you so much," she gushes, looking down at her ring on her finger. "How embarrassing."

"It was my pleasure, Katniss." The look she levels at me - somewhere in the space between gratefulness and mystery - shakes me. If I wasn't made of bones and skin I would melt on the spot. Those gorgeous eyes and that dimpled grin, well, I'm done for. "It's, um, time for the speeches soon, yeah?"

Trepidation rises in her eyes; the collecting of cumulus clouds in an otherwise peaceful sky of hazy gray-blue. "Yes. I'm not good with speeches. Peeta's great. He's got a way with words, but I'm awful at it."

I laugh, leaning my weight on the punch table behind us. Katniss does the same, albeit uncomfortably in her large dress. "Trust me, I've seen worse. I've seen brides literally vomit up there." Katniss stares at me hard then lets out a loud laugh. "I'm serious! A real conservative wedding, too. She is all dolled up in this Princess Diana get-up that was just atrocious. White roses, everywhere," I add with disgust. "She goes to speak and just blech! All over her fine china. All over Mr. King of England. It was a riot."

"You're horrible! That must have been excruciating for her!" Katniss slaps me on the arm in jest and I smirk.

"She was dreadful, don't feel bad for her. Men and women use weddings as an excuse to act like animals. Feel bad for the poor waiter who had to clean that up." A knife clatters against a crystal chalice at the front of the room and the band begins to die down.

Katniss pulls in a loud breath. "Any last advice, wedding expert?"

I adjust the pearl necklace on her breastplate, letting my fingers linger a little bit longer than absolutely necessary. "Speak from your heart." She gives me a droll look. "Okay, don't throw up, how's that?"

"Better." We share another smile I feel deep within my aortas and walks off to the front of the room. Maneuvering myself to the back row, I perch near the exit. Normally I'd have left by now, especially since I am lusting after a very newly wed bride, but I want to hear her speak.

Finnick stands up first to toast to the new couple. "When I met Peeta, he was already head-up-his-ass in love with Katniss, but she had no idea. They didn't even know each other yet, just saw each other in passing at school. There were a lot of nights of whoring and drug-using, enjoyed only by me. Peeta was somewhere painting or baking or doing something else he saw on Martha Stewart Living." He pauses for laughs, of which there are many. "And finally, he managed to convince Katniss that she wasn't going to do any better. They've been insufferably boring every day since. So here's to Peeta and Katniss! May they spend the rest of their lives as they've spent the last four years - together and as boring as an old maid's lampshade!"

The guests raise a toast and drink to the new couple. Finnick hands the microphone to Peeta, who stands in response. "Thank you, Finnick. Tonight's one of the many nights I will spend wondering how and why we are friends." He smiles affectionately at the man and turns to the crowd. "But he's not wrong. Somehow, I managed to convince the most beautiful woman in the world to be my bride, and my partner."

"Hypnosis!" Finnick yells, slapping Peeta on the back.

The room laughs and Peeta good-naturedly glares at him in response. "You all laugh, but if one of you says 'nutmeg' she's gonna snap out of it." Their guests laugh again. Of course he's charming and self-deprecating. I couldn't lust after the wife of a douchebag. "All kidding aside, I consider myself the luckiest man in the room tonight. And I'll continue being the luckiest man alive for as long as she keeps waking up beside me."

Katniss rises next, kissing Peeta on the cheek and taking the microphone from him. "Thank you all for coming. I, um, I'm going to make this short because I really, really want to eat cake." Laughs spread throughout the room and I can't help but smile. She has no idea the way she commands a room. The way her easy smile and piercing eyes is putting everyone under her spell. Or maybe just me. "I feel like I've known Peeta my whole life. We've been best friends since they day we met. People say that fairy tales always have a rough passage at some point, but with Peeta and I, it's always been smooth sailing. Maybe that's a better kind of fairy tale."

Everyone raises their glasses and toasts the couple once more, and I stroll to my car. What am I thinking, flirting with this girl? She is married to her 'best friend.' They are going to spend their lives together in some quaint little house, pop out their 2.5 kids, and forget all about the lesbian florist they hired to do their flowers.

At best I'll be something they'll press between two pages of a book. A memento of the day they truly began their lives together.

But sometimes, life works out a little differently than you expect.


	2. The Dinner Party

After months of scouring real estate, I had settled on my corner store almost immediately upon seeing it. I signed the papers on the real estate agent's back only ten minutes into arriving. It's cozy, trafficked on the weekend, and built with beautiful, old architecture. The real closer was the small garden in the back. Most of my plants are imported from local farms, but there are several kinds I grow myself in the back. I enjoy feeling the heat of the sun on my back as I dig my fingernails into the soil around the bulbs.

The bell above my door chimes as I work outside in the late afternoon sun. Clapping my hands together to rid them of dust, I stand to see Cressida bounding through the back door of the shop, as if this were her house. It may as well be, the amount of time she spends here. "I knew you'd be in the dirt, Worm."

With a roll of my eyes at her decade-old nickname for me, I drop back to my knees and continue my gardening. We'd become friends as kids, and she teased me even then about my love of the outdoors and planting. Our friendship blossomed as we both struggled to find our sexualities, pining over straight girls and having our hearts broken. We attended college together; I studied business and she studied film, and we both slept our way through the dorms in a bid to find love. I'm a bit better at actually keeping a girlfriend; Cressida is the lothario.

"How'd the wedding go?" she asks in her bright English lilt, sitting down on the worn wooden bench that edges the garden. She brushes paint flakes off the furniture and focuses her sky blue eyes at me. Despite both being desperately gay and attractive, Cressida and I have never slept together. Our friendship has weathered many storms, but that is not one of them. Probably because we are not each other's type.

I look up at her, wiping sweat off my forehead with my arm. "Good, good. It went really good." Cressida knows me better than nearly anyone except for my mother, and her skeptical glance bores into me. I let out a sigh and push a rogue strand of hair up with the expelled breath. "The bride was fucking hot."

Cressida's lips move into a smirk and she tilts her head at me. She runs her fingers through the right side of her hair, the other side being shaved nearly bald. Beautiful vine tattoos crawl up the side of her neck and sprawl out on the shaved side of her head. "You fancied the bride? Trollop."

Tossing a handful of dirt in her direction, I scowl at her as she deflects it with ease. I sit back on to my butt in the grass, staring up into the faultless sky. "I am not a _trollop_. Nothing happened. I just thought she was cute." Cressida beckons for me to continue so I do. "Okay, I thought she was gorgeous."

"Brunette?" Cressida asks with a raised eyebrow.

I have a type. Katniss fits it to a 'T.' "Yes. Brunette, gray eyes, a little taller than me, cute dimples when she smiles." I gaze off wistfully as I bring the image of Katniss back into my mind. I wouldn't know any of the girls I slept with in college from a hole in the ground but Katniss I could pick out in a crowd of thousands, I'm sure of it.

Cressida scoffs loudly, gesticulating wildly with her hands. "Are you kidding? These are dimples, Mason." She smirks to show them off in a grade-school effort to one up my crush. She pokes her finger in the deep crevice she's made and stares at me. While she is right, she too has wonderful dimples that drive other girls crazy, it isn't the same. My unimpressed look makes her stop. "Fine, fine. So are you going to see her again?"

I laugh harder, snorting at her suggestion. "Yeah I'm gonna try to romance a straight woman who just got married. That'll be great." I stand up from the grass, wiping my hands off on my jeans. Cressida's phone chimes with a bright, tingling ring and she looks down at it sourly.

"Oh for fuck's sake. Idiots at the station can't wipe their own arse without me there handing them the toilet paper."

"Go on, Miss Exec Producer," I coo mockingly, motioning toward the door. "Go do your job, use confusing British slang and call someone a motherfucker without their knowledge."

Following her back inside the shop, she flips me off over her shoulder. "I'll just call them a motherfucker if that's what they are, _motherfucker_."

"Mm, you can try but it doesn't sound as threatening when it comes out of Mary Poppins' mouth." At my post behind the register, I watch the leather-clad girl leave, swinging her hips and still giving me the middle finger.

"Fuck you, love you, ring you later!" The motto of our friendship if there ever was one.

* * *

Engrossed in my laptop, I barely look up when the door chimes and someone walks in. I like to give people a moment to look around before extending my expertise. An anxious looking fellow with wiry hair and a gaunt face appears in front of me, wringing his hands. He's wearing a suit one size too big for him and flits around the room, flower to flower like a hummingbird.

"Can I help you?"

He stops in his tracks. "I need a last chance flower." I quirk my eyebrow at him. "A last chance flower. I fucked up and now this is my last chance to get her back." I nod understandingly and begin to look around the room for something appropriate.

"Roses?" I offer, picking out a few blood red roses from the bouquet. "Does she like roses?"

"No, no, that's all wrong," he replies quickly. As he barges outside to look at the warmer-weather flowers, he nearly collides with a woman trying to enter. He mutters a quick "excuse me" at her and continues outside. As my eyes meet the woman's I feel a smile that is unnaturally wide work its way on to my face.

"Hi!" I greet with far too much enthusiasm, shoving my hands in the pockets of my jeans. Katniss looks even more becoming in casual clothes than her wedding dress. She's in a pair of svelte skinny jeans and a low-cut gray tank top that just about perfectly matches the gray of her eyes.

Her cheeks dimple and I melt a little bit more. "Hey," she responds. "Your shop is nice."

Why am I blushing? Johanna Mason does not blush. I have been stark naked in an elevator full of other people. I have done nude mud wrestling back in my drink-til-you-pass-out college days as an athlete. No part of my pale skin blushed that day. But now I look like a virgin in a whorehouse. "Thanks. What um, what are you doing here? Not that you're not welcome, you're obviously very welcome."

She smirks at me but is interrupted by the tapping on the glass outside. I narrow my eyes at the intrusive man bustling about. "You! What's your favorite flower?"

Katniss is flustered for a moment but shrugs. "I guess I like lillies," she calls through the glass at him.

The man scrunches his nose in something akin to disgust. "No, that's all wrong."

"Okay," she replies with an eye roll and she turns back to me completely.

Again, before she can say anything, the man briskly walks back in. I move toward another flower. A bright pink one with tiny bulbs. "What about the Bouvardia?" He makes an impatient gesture for me to elaborate. "Oh, um, it's named after Charles Bouvard, a famous chemist and the personal physician of King Louis the Thirteenth. It means enthusiasm." I catch Katniss staring at me before I turn my attention back to the man.

"Nope." He walks back out and Katniss and I exchange bemused looks.

"I was wondering if you'd want to have dinner." I must look as off-kilter as I feel because she quickly explicates, "With Peeta and I! And Finnick. Just as a thank you, you know, for doing our flowers and entertaining my sister before the wedding."

"And for my further discretion about you dropping a certain piece of jewelry into a bowl full of punch?" Finally I make her blush and I smile proudly.

"Yes," she says, clearing her throat. She looks so cute when she fidgets. "Also for that."

"I'd love to," I agree with what I hope is a warm smile and not a creepy serial killer smile. Sometimes you think you're doing one and you're doing the other.

"Great! I'll have Peeta call you with the details." The anxious man comes back in with an unsightly cactus in his hands. He hands me money and smiles.

"This is it!" Without further explanation he exits the shop, leaving Katniss and I to chuckle quietly in his absence.

* * *

 Something happens when your eyes meet someone whose soul you are tethered to. Something beyond what I can describe in words, beyond explanation. You look in their eyes but you don't just see the color, or the emotion, you see the visible electric current between you. When Katniss and Peeta open the door, that's what I feel as she and I meet eyes. Thunderstruck.

To break the awkward silence I jab the oversized bouquet of flowers I've brought toward Peeta. "These are great, Johanna, thanks," he says with a smile. They're Katniss's favorite. I saw her eyeing them at my shop. So sue me, I want her to like me.

They invite me in and direct me toward their living room. The white walls are lined with paintings that don't look exactly professional, though they are well done. And, of course, a smattering of modern black frames with photos of Peeta and Katniss on various vacations. They look happy. "Come see our new sofa," Katniss says happily, scuffling down the small corridor toward their den.

"Our _expensive_ new sofa," Peeta chimes in with a grimace.

I smirk. "Well you can't put a price on comfort. Beds, sofas, cars. You spend nearly all your life in those three places. Gotta make it count."

Katniss turns on her heel as we approach the couch. "You hear that, Peeta? A girl after my own heart."

 _In more ways than one,_ I think. "Do you believe in reincarnation Johanna?" Peeta asks suddenly, a glint of humor in his pale blue eyes. "Katniss said she had the feeling that you had met before."

Katniss's eyes hit the carpet in a hurry. It is the second time a week I have seen her blush. It sends a small thrill through me each time. "That's not exactly what I said," she mumbles. "I -"

"I'd have remembered," I cut in with a smile. "If we had met before, in this life or another, I'd remember."

There it is again. That live wire connecting us as our eyes meet. For a fleeting moment I swear she feels it too because her eyes move to the flowers to escape it. "Why don't I get these in some water?" She takes the bouquet from Peeta and stalks off toward the kitchen.

Once she scurries off I sit down with Peeta on their expensive (and yes, very comfortable) couch. He pours us deep ruby red wine and hands me a cup. "So are those your paintings, or Katniss's?" I inquire, motioning around the room. Each of the paintings are of some natural wonder, painted with such vivid care and intricacy that I am duly impressed.

Peeta grins. "Mine. The plan was to visit a few exotic places each year and paint something hidden. Like find a deserted cave or a waterfall that was tucked into a deep recess in a rainforest and paint there. This way if I got them all printed in a book, you could see one and want to travel there. I could describe what it looked like, the local culture..."

"Because you've been there?" I supply, taking a sip of the wine.

He grimaces. "That was the plan. But then you know, Katniss. Life. Work." I don't know exactly what Peeta does but it seems rather business-y and official. One of the photos I spot on the mantle of their fireplace is one of Peeta in a suit shaking hands with an older man with a white rose in his lapel at some sort of ribbon-cutting ceremony.

"Someday," I encourage with a tip of my wine glass.

"Maybe," he replies, his voice sort of soft and faraway. As someone who has gone after her passions wholeheartedly, I'm disheartened to see him unable to pursue his own. "What about you?" he says, changing subjects. "Married? Ever been married, ever gonna be married?"

"No, no," I reply with a dismissive wave of my hand. "Not exactly my bag, you know? I mean for a while there it wasn't even an option. But now the laws have changed so I can't entirely rule it out." Peeta looks extremely confused and I smirk. "I'm a lesbian."

"Oh," he says, nodding his head. I've always felt I am fairly easy to spot as gay, but apparently not to straight men. "Oh," he repeats with more clarity. "Well done." Before we can sink any further into our awkward conversation the doorbell buzzes above our heads. I hear Katniss shut off the running water and scamper toward the door. "Finnick is here."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

* * *

Now that I'm sitting here with them, I realize their true intention of inviting me over: to try and set me up with Finnick. First of all, even if I weren't gay, he would be far from my type. He's insufferably vain and clearly a rabid womanizer. In fact, I think that he might just be too much like me for us to be together.

"All right, let's address the elephant in the room," Finnick announces as he wipes his face with a cloth napkin. "How much better is the sex after marriage? Because when I've had sex with people who were married, they've said it was fantastic."

Chuckling, I watch the exchange over the rim of my wine glass. Katniss doesn't look particularly amused. "Get wed and find out yourself," she challenges.

Peeta scoffs loudly. "Oh please. Finnick couldn't get married. That would require commitment. He can only commit to magazine subscriptions and Netflix shows."

"I'm not a one-person person!" Finnick defends, leaning back in his chair. He spreads his arms out. "There are a lot of gorgeous women out there and I'm trying to sleep with as many as I can."

Again I laugh into my wine cup. If I had been born with chiseled cheekbones and a penis, I may have been Mr. Finnick Odair. While I have had a few steady girlfriends in the past, I've been nowhere near a commitment, either. The opposite of the typical "U-Haul" lesbian. "That'll all change when you meet Mrs. Right," Katniss interjects with a sage nod.

Finnick smirks. "And how do I know when that is, hm? Enlighten me, Mrs. Katnisss Everdeen."

Katniss rolls her eyes. "You don't know, not immediately." She looks over at Peeta with a fond smile. "You feel ...warm. Comfortable. And eventually you settle into something wonderful and you're like, yeah. This is it. This is love."

Peeta rubs the top of Katniss's hand affectionately. "I'm with her."

"Me too," Finnick chimes in.

As Peeta begins clearing the plates I shake my head. "I disagree." They all stop moving and look at me, but my eyes never leave Katniss's. "I think you know immediately when you find someone. The moment your eyes meet... And then everything that happens after that just proves that you were right in that first moment. The moment you realize that you had been incomplete, and now you are whole."

"I'm with her," Finnick pipes up again. Peeta agrees with a nod.

"Right well now that we've got that sorted out. Who wants dessert?"

"Yes," I say toward the blond man. Peeta goes off toward the kitchen, leaving Katniss, Finnick and I sitting around the large oak table.

"No."

I look over at Katniss, surprised by her outburst. "No?"

"No." She looks frustrated, almost angry. It's a little perverse to think of how much it turns me on. "Because if you believe that. If you believe people know their soulmate in the first moment they meet then everyone who is without that... Anyone who didn't feel that immediate connection is settling for less."

I quirk my eyebrow but my smile doesn't falter. "That's not what I'm saying."

"That kind of is."

"I think she said it a bit nicer." Finnick's eyes dart between us, like a child at the dinner table when his parents are fighting. Katniss doesn't back down from my stare. We hold each other's gaze until Peeta places a beautifully frosted cake on the table between of us. "Peeta Betty Crocker Mellark, I'd marry you myself if Katniss hadn't snatched ya." Finnick rubs his hands together in anticipation and as he dips his finger to swipe some frosting, but Katniss slaps his hand away playfully.

* * *

 After dessert I climb up a metal staircase to their private concrete balcony. A small storm has brushed up so I sit underneath my umbrella and watch it fall. I've always loved the rain. I love the soothing sound, the pitter-patter of droplets as they hit the ground. I love watching people huddle together to escape it, or the crazy ones who abandon their shelters to catch raindrops on their tongues and faces. I love the smell. It reminds me of muddy days at the baseball diamond with my father, teaching me, even in rain, how to properly field a ball. My attention is ripped from the rooftops of the small city by Katniss calling me from the door. "What are you doing out here?"

I turn my attention to her and grin. "It's gorgeous!"

She laughs and shakes her head. "It's raining." The semi-annoyed but concerned tone of her voice makes me swing my legs over and half-jog back toward the building. She shuts the glass door behind me and look out into the glistening city lights. "Peeta won't come up here. People say it's that subconscious fear you'll throw yourself off. He won't let me go near it either."

"L'appel du vide," I supply and she turns to me with an inscrutable emotion on her face. "It's not exactly a fear. It's an instinct. Leftover from when we climbed trees. Your body sees the void and expects to be able to jump for it, like we did swinging from tree to tree." Unable to meet her intense gaze anymore I look back out at the view. "A lot of people are afraid to take risks. The animal part of you wants to jump, but the more rational part of you says no."

"But not you," she says softly. I look back to her. "You're not afraid to jump."

"No, not me. I guess I never evolved." There could be no better moment for a kiss than this. The uncertainty in her eyes is emboldening me with power. Her body is somewhat leaning into mine. But instead we both jump when we hear Peeta calling from below, like caught schoolchildren.

"Finnick either wants to play Strip Poker or Strip Finnick and I really want him to go home."

* * *

Chivalrously Finnick offers to drive me home. As we drive in his fancy sea green sports car down the streets, I stare out the window. "Take the next left," I instruct in a small voice.

"Or how about we just go back to my place?" He is as persistent as he is sensuous but unfortunately both of those things fall as flat as cardboard for me.

I snicker. "Or just take the next left."

He follows my instructions and takes the following left on to the highway that leads back to my house. "Is there something wrong?"

"Why? Because I don't want to sleep with you?" I bristle.

He looks over at my smirking face and smiles. "No, you're welcome not to sleep with me. You just look extremely bored with my company."

I let out a sigh as the city whizzes by us. He is observant, I'll give him that. "I'm sorry, you're right." I rub my forehead with the tips of my fingers. "Have you ever ...liked someone, but there was someone else already there?"

He shrugs. "Well yeah. The hot ones are always taken."

"And? What do you do?"

I don't know why I am soliciting advice from a man who claims the birds and the bees are taught about him, but I am. "I sleep with them anyway." I laugh in disbelief and he hazards a glance over at me. "What? Their partner is their problem."

"You know, this one time I slept with a girl -"

Finnick wiggles his eyebrows. "Spare Uncle Finnick no details."

I slap his arm and continue. "I slept with this girl. I didn't know she had a girlfriend already. It was college and I was stupid and impulsive. But when I saw them later on? How broken that other girl looked? I can't mess with another couple." I inwardly wince at the memory. The image of two girls crying in the middle of campus because of something I did on a whim sticks in my brain. Unless I've been wronged, I don't like to cause other people unnecessary amounts of pain. "You don't want to cause that pain. You just admit that it can't happen and hook up with someone available instead."

His car shrieks to a halt outside my door and he aims his gaze at me. "Well, we're here, so why don't we?" I unlock my door and get out, walking around the hood of the car and Finnick steps out and calls to me. "I'm so good in bed, though!"

"Good night, Finnick!" I dismiss with a wave, letting myself into my apartment and leaving the childish horn dog out on the street. His conversation doesn't give me any real clarity, but it gives me perspective. If I don't pursue her, then I'm not in the wrong, right? If she comes to me... well then maybe I could live with that guilt.

Of course, I am only fooling myself. I'd go to their house and take her by force if I thought she was interested in me. Unfortunately, I don't know if she is. I don't know I'll ever find out.


	3. The Date

I'm not sure how many times Mrs. Everdeen has apologized to me as I approach the small auditorium. Since meeting Primrose at Katniss's wedding, the youngest Everdeen has been in near constant contact with me. Living in her much older sister's shadow, I suppose nobody takes the time to really entertain all her questions. I don't mind, though. I always wanted a little brother or sister, so Prim, much belatedly, fills that void.

She invited me to her dance recital a month or so after I ate dinner with the Mellarks. I've seen Finnick in between for drinks, but nothing of Katniss until today. It is unseasonably cold for late September, so I am wrapped in a denim jacket and a loose scarf. Katniss is wearing a muted orange-brown leather jacket with a loose-knit gray scarf over her shoulder. Her hair is down in the same braid she wore for her wedding, hanging over the other shoulder. Her face is nearly free of make-up, exposing a few freckles on her cheekbones and otherwise flawless olive-toned skin.

Her eyes flash with emotion as she takes me in: surprised, elated, and confused. Mrs. Everdeen cuts in. "Your sister has been calling Johanna non-stop for weeks." It isn't entirely untrue. In fact, she's shown up at my shop at least four times a week after school to bombard me with existential questions that I can answer, and easy math questions I can not.

"I'm sorry." Katniss looks apologetically toward me.

"It's no bother, really," I dismiss with a smile. "Prim's really smart. I feel like I'm hanging out with an intellectual equal." Katniss chuckles and I pretend to glare at her. "I'm not sure if that speaks less of me or more of her, but either way." I shrug and open the door to the gymnasium to allow them both to walk in. Not at all so I can give myself a view of Katniss's rear.

We find our seats somewhere in the middle of the auditorium, crushed between large adults with jackets too big for the weather. Katniss sits in between her mother and me. The pamphlet we are handed indicates the show will run about three hours long. As if she read my mind, Katniss lets out a tiny yawn. Mrs. Everdeen quirks an eyebrow at her. "Up late, I see? Working on my grandchildren?"

I cough loudly into a closed fist, out of both shock and embarrassment for Katniss and disgust for myself. Katniss's cheeks flush a deep crimson and she swats her mother with the pamphlet. "No, Mother, but thank you for bringing up my sex life at your daughter's recital. That's great. I'm sure Johanna really wanted to know."

I make an awkward face and Katniss chuckles. Mrs. Everdeen bristles and adjusts herself in the fold-out metal chair. "I don't see any harm in asking. One wants to see them while one's still young." The lights begin to dim, thankfully, and the large canvas curtain splits to show a row of slim little girls in pale periwinkle tutus, while the strains of Coppélia begin to play. I'm not exactly a big fan of opera or ballets, but seeing the little girls so dutifully performing their orchestrations is adorable. I withdraw my camera from my bag and begin snapping photos of Prim as she flutters across the stage with what is a minimal amount of grace. Aside from growing flowers, my other major hobby is photography. I'm sort of obnoxious because I hate digital cameras, so I'm constantly annoying my travel companions and subjects by using analog cameras and stopping every thirty minutes to change film.

I take pictures for the first hour. Then it starts being less adorable and more intolerable to sit in the stifling hot gym. They have massively overcompensated for the chill outside by cranking up the heat. Somewhere in the first act I casually sling my arm across the back of Katniss's chair. Somewhere in the second act, I begin unconsciously twirling a stray piece of her braid in my fingers. Now in the third act, Katniss is fast asleep in the crook of my shoulder. I'm positive Mrs. Everdeen has noticed but doesn't say anything. I'm sure as hell not going to move. When I shift even slightly she lets out a tiny whimper like a newborn kitten and reaches her hand up to grab a fistful of the front of my shirt.

It is the damned cutest thing anyone has ever done and I am in deep trouble with this girl.

As the last act drones on I begin getting lost in a harmless daydream in which Prim is our child. That we are her mothers, exhausted from our second baby at home with the sitter. That this cuddling she is doing - which is exactly what this is - is something leftover from our days before our kids. That I'd relish the closeness of her that we are denied with a screaming infant at home. I imagine dropping a kiss on her forehead and feeling her murmur something unintelligible and hold me closer.

The loud clapping when the girls take a bow jolts Katniss from her slumber and me from my daydream. Before she can become too horrified I smirk and lean in conspiratorially. "You didn't miss much," I whisper into her ear and I swear I feel her shudder. She smiles embarrassedly and checks my jacket, presumably looking for saliva. There isn't any. She's an outrageously cute sleeper, and even if she had drooled, that still would have been true.

Her eyes are down to the floor as she puts on her jacket in between claps for Prim. "I'm sorry I like, slept on you. I've just been working really late and everything. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I say, standing from my seat and putting my jacket as well. "You're a cute sleeper." We both hold the same expression: shock. I can't believe I said that out loud and neither can she. Then something else drifts into her eyes. Something like ...relief. I'm sure I must be interpreting that expression wrong.

"I don't think you'd feel the same if you slept with me." Aghast gray eyes meet mine and I'm sure there's a ridiculous grin on my face. She backpedals quickly. "I just, um, I mean, I toss and turn a lot. I keep Peeta up at night."

Prim finds us easily through the waning crowd as I stand behind Katniss, waiting to exit. "I don't think I'd mind," I say from behind as Prim squirms through her mother's arms and comes directly to me, tossing her skinny limbs around my waist. I meet Katniss's gaze for just a brief moment before I kneel down to give Prim a proper hug. "You were great, little doe."

"Little Duck," she corrects haughtily.

"That's what Katniss calls you. I'll use Little Doe, thank you very much."

"Did you see my solo?" In truth I hadn't because I was watching Katniss sleep but I nod. Prim beams. "Are you coming with us to get ice cream?"

I want nothing more than to see more of Katniss so I nod. "If it's okay with your mom and your sister. I don't want to be drag."

"A drag?" Mrs. Everdeen asks as we exit the school and hit the somewhat cold air outside. "You are the only person who can make any sense of Prim," she teases lovingly, patting the top of Prim's platinum blonde head.

* * *

The local ice cream shop is practically deserted because of the colder weather outside, so the three of us engage ourselves (or Prim engages me) in loud conversation. She also enjoys mugging for my camera. When I change rolls I turn to my left to show her how to do it. "Okay now you spin this around until you don't feel any more tension."

Prim follows my instruction, handling the plastic camera with the care a little kid gives something they don't know the price of but thinks is expensive. Finally when the winder spins without any obstruction and she looks at me. "Good job! Okay, now slide this thing down here. It's called the rear door switch." Prim slides the plastic piece over and I open the camera's back. The black film was tightly wound to the right and I motion for her to remove it. "And that's it!"

I load another roll of film into the camera as Prim watches on, riveted. Once I'm done I hand her the camera. She looks up at me with wide blue eyes. "Go ahead," I urge soothingly. "Take some pictures."

"I don't take good pictures," she laments with a pout.

I smirk. "Not with that attitude you don't. Look all you do is point and shoot. Make sure you're being very still. Typically you want to see the picture like a tic tac toe board." I dipped my finger into the chocolate fudge on my ice cream and drew a three-by-three grid on my placemat. "Generally, the subject of your photo shouldn't be exactly in the center. Not that it's bad, but the picture sometimes comes out more interesting if it's in one of the other boxes."

And so begins Prim's career as the Photographer of the Next Five Minutes. She takes photos of me, of Mrs. Everdeen and a reluctant Katniss, of our ice cream, of the bright and neon Wurlitzer jukebox in the far corner of the shop.

She catches the eye of a young red-haired boy across the restaurant and within a few minutes Prim drags her mother over there to talk to the boy's mother. A very sly way to get herself to talk to the boy. I let her take the camera with her and I can see her explaining the inner workings of the camera to him. Smooth.

"You're really good with her," Katniss says as she digs for more chunks of peanut butter in her ice cream. "Do you want kids?"

I shrug. "Maybe someday. I could see myself with a few. Only if they're brilliant like Prim though." Katniss laughs and I sit back in my booth, letting the tinkling sound of her laughter cascade over me. "I'm serious! That kid is smart. Smart kids ask a lot of questions. People always try to snuff out your curiosity and that's how you brain starts to deteriorate. I hope she never loses that."

Katniss licks her lips and then purses them before she speaks to me. "You have a lot of theories on life and love for a mere florist," Katniss muses as she twirls her spoon inside the metal container.

I raise my eyebrow. "Excuse me? Are you insinuating that you thought I'd be dumb?"

"No," Katniss replies, not taking my bait and instead smiling warmly. "I'm just saying you have a lot of layers."

"Is that bad?"

"No," she replies again, peering into her ice cream. "I think it's--" Her voice wanes as she flicks her eyes up to mine, then back down to her evidently very interesting ice cream. "Interesting. I find you interesting."

"Hm." Interesting. She doesn't seem exactly pleased with her choice of words but I shrug it off. "Well I'm glad you find me _interesting_. I find you _interesting_ as well, Katniss Everdeen Mellark." _I also find you attractive, and funny, and possibly someone I'd want to date._ But I keep that to myself.

A rosy color comes to her cheeks as she glances at Primrose and her mother. "I don't think so. I'm not really the interesting one in the family." There is a story behind her tone, I feel it. Maybe not a story, but a life. A way of thinking. You know that feeling when you're talking about something you really love and you apologize because you think you're boring that person? Because somewhere in your life, someone didn't want to hear you so now you assume no one does? That's what it sounds like. Resignation.

"I disagree. I think you're fascinating."

Katniss bites the inside of her lip. "Fascinating and a cute sleeper, huh?" she sasses with a wink.

For the first time she is volleying my flirting back to me. I try to swallow down my surprise. "Don't get too big of an ego. We disagree on one of the most important parts of life, you know." She knits her eyebrows. "Love."

Katniss chuckles and raises her hands. "Right, right. Because you're waiting for that big spark, yeah? Waiting for that perfect lightning strike?" Her teasing tone mutes into a more serious one as her eyes bore into mine. "Waiting for that person with the eyes that make you feel whole."

Without really thinking I reach my hand forward and lightly brush my fingertips against the tops of Katniss's nails. She doesn't pull away. The moment feels like glass. "Is that such a bad thing? Wholeness?"

If my ice cream isn't already melting because of how long it has been sitting untouched in my cup, it will melt now under the stare Katniss is giving me. "Have you ever felt it before?"

I am slightly taken aback by her question but I don't move. I keep slowly grazing the tops of my fingers against her hand. My eyes dart down to the point of contact between us before I look back up at her. "Once."

"What did you do?"

She's pushing me. We both know it. "Nothing. I couldn't do anything. There was already somebody else." I sigh, retreating my hand back into my lap. "I don't think you mess with other couples. You don't cause that pain, ever."

Prim bounds back toward us as Katniss and I make unrelenting eye contact. She thrusts the pastel-colored camera toward me. "I didn't use all the film. Will you develop it for me? Can I see the pictures?"

I laugh and nod. "Sure thing Prim. I'll develop them over the weekend and show you sometime next week, okay?" When I look back at Katniss she is deeply engrossed in her cell phone and I heave a sigh. Moment gone. Never to return.

* * *

Cressida hops up on the metal bar that connects the back wheels of the shopping cart and zooms down the aisle. I throw a bag of cereal into the cart like I'm making a three-point shot in basketball. I miss and it crashes on to the tile floor. "Cress, seriously, stop riding the shopping cart. You're making me miss all my game-winning shots."

The blonde girl shrugs. "Looks like you're not winning the game then, are you love?" She sticks her tongue out at me. "And it's called a trolley."

I growl as her as we turn to the frozen aisle. "Trolleys exist in England and San Fransisco. Not in grocery stores."

"You Americans have to have a million different words for everything." She puts on a terrible Midwestern accent. "'Oh I live in Illinois, soda is called pop. Oh, I live in New York it's called a hoagie.' Wankers."

I pretend to be embarrassed on behalf of all Americans. "American English makes sense. All you people do is create the most fanciful words for everything you can." I reach inside one of the frosted doors and withdraw a bright yellow box. "Now what's this called?"

Cressida frowns. "Ice lollies."

I tilt my head to the side. "Now when you said that, did you not feel the least bit silly? Lollies?" I draw out the next word. "Popsicle."

Cressida looks aghast. "Popsicle? What kind of word is that? Like an icicle but make of soda pop? That's a fruit ice lolly. What 'pops' in it?"

"And apartments aren't flats. What's flat about an apartment?"

"Um, the walls? The ceiling? The fucking roof?"

I toss the box back inside the door and shake my head. "You're nuts." We banter as we peruse the various boxed meals until our cart nearly collides with another. An apology hangs on the tip of my tongue. "Well hi."

"Hi," Katniss greets softly, ever so slightly edging closer to Peeta. What does she think I'm going to do, jump her right here in the frozen section? Her eyes settle on Cressida who looks between us expectantly.

"Peeta, this is Cressida," I introduce.

Peeta nods. "Cressida."

"Peeta," Cressida chirps.

"And this is Katniss."

"Katniss."

There is a slight twinge in Katniss's face as she looks over Cressida. "Cressida."

"Doing some shopping?" I ask stupidly.

Peeta nods. "Yep. You as well, I see?"

"Yep." I pause. "Well, enjoy it. And we should definitely do dinner again."

"Definitely," Peeta and Katniss agree in unison.

"Okay. Well. Have a nice rest of your shopping. Don't get too cold." I give a motion to the freezer doors and then turn on my heel before my face can melt into extreme embarrassment. Cressida and I quickly round the corner. "Are you going out tonight? Because I was thinking of coming with."

"Whoa there pussycat, what the hell was that back there?" I look anywhere but the steely blue eyes of the blonde girl next to me as I pretend to be interested in the bargain bin at the end of the aisle near the registers. "You were so awkward." When I don't answer she lets out a loud gasp that I'm sure can be heard twenty parking spots outside the door. "That's the girl!" she whispers excitedly. "That's her!"

Frowning I lean over the cart, putting my head on my arms. "Yes, that's her."

"Oh my GOD, Johanna, she's so heterosexual! Not just like regular heterosexual, like _Barbie_ heterosexual." I punch her lightly in the arm as we go down another aisle and again come cart-to-cart with the Mellark family. "Well hey! We were just talking about you."

"Us too!" Peeta agrees. A weird pause settles between us. "Cressida, are you gay?"

Katniss looks horrified. Cressida looks at me and then breaks out into a huge grin. "Am I gay? I'm ecstatic!"

"And are you two?" he trails off, motioning between us with a wooden spoon.

"No," I reply quickly.

Cressida heaves a melodramatic sigh. "Sadly no. I have tried and tried but she loves another." She gives me a big squeeze and kisses my cheek to which I roll my eyes. She is enjoying this embarrassment far too much and I vow to return the favor as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

"Great. Well. I will see you guys another time. Give me a call." Quickly I grab my cart and swing it in the opposite direction, heading down the aisle to the registers. "I really, truly hate you."

"No you don't," Cressida reminds gently, wrapping her arm around mine. "You love me. Just not as much as you fancy Barbie Katniss. And her subpar dimples."

* * *

 "I'm just going to add some lilac in here for color." I tie a bouquet together for a short, ethereal looking redheaded woman who walked into my shop a few minutes earlier. Sundays are usually my busy day as the shops are open on my block and most people are off from work. Today has lived up to that expectation, but at the moment, she's the only one here, like a ghost.

"That looks great," she says in a voice as soft as her skin. I have half a mind to flirt with her until she says, "I'm going to tell my boyfriend we're having a baby."

I smile at her. "That's wonderful. Congratulations."

"Thank you." As I walk around the register begin ringing her up, I hear sniffles. "He's um, he's going to hate me." Slowly her small trickles of tears come out as full-blown sobs. She races around the register and throws her arms around me, soaking my t-shirt in the onslaught of her tears. If I was a pious person I would thank God that my phone is ringing and I can detach myself from this emotional girl.

"Mason's," I greet.

"Johanna!" The chipper voice comes through the line and I smile as I place it. Peeta. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, Peeta. How're you?"

"Fantastic. Listen I have a favor to ask of you. And you can't say no. Katniss and I signed up to take an archery class tomorrow and I have to work overtime. My boss is being a real tyrant. His name is Snow and you know what we call it when we demands overtime? Being _snowed in_."

I chuckle and shake my head. Office humor. Always funnier inside a cubicle. "I don't think I'm any good at archery."

Peeta groans. "Neither am I, I'm dreadful. Couldn't do it in gym classes. I don't know if Katniss would be any good but you'll take her, yeah?"

"Sure," I agree, holding the receiver of the phone as the woman in front of me lets out a wail and continues to cry. "Just text me with the details, okay?"

"Great, it's a date! Thank you, Johanna."

* * *

In my younger years my dad used to take me down to the lumber yards. I'd pal around with hulking men three times my age and size, and they taught me how to swing an axe. I got really good at it, too. I can twirl an axe over my head and hit a target several yards away; a skill I've used exactly zero times. Unfortunately that useless talent does not translate into being good at archery.

Katniss is a natural. We stand on the big field with about four other couples, but she is blowing them away, as she is extremely adept at shooting the bulls-eye from nearly any distance. When it comes my turn to try again I stand firm. I draw the arrow back on the bow and aim down my sight. Can't be too hard, right? Somewhere in my family lineage I must be descended from someone who could shoot a bow and arrow.

Evidently not. The arrows soar so far off target I think I hit a passing car on the highway that edges the field we are standing in. "You're overthinking it." I glare at Katniss. A few hours in an archery range and suddenly she is some kind of expert.

Unrelated, I don't take direction well. "I'm not overthinking it. It's really fucking simple. Just point and shoot."

Katniss rolls her eyes as I load the bow with another arrow. I stretch it out as taut as I can and level my aim. I let go of the bow's string and the arrow does a wonderful flip and lands with a thud in front of my feet on the grass. "Do you want me to show you?"

"I feel like you're going to show me anyway so go ahead, Legolas." Katniss steps around my side and picks up the arrow. "Okay, load the arrow on the bow. You got that part down perfect." I glare at her but follow her directions. Then she slides her arms around my body, mimicking my position with her own. Her forearm against mine, bent at the elbow. She nudges my elbow upward with hers. Her body pressing against mine, she slides her other hand down the length of my left arm and wraps her hand around my fist. She is so warm. Her breath bounces off my ear. "Now aim just a bit higher than the bulls-eye." My body is shaking just a little but I do as I'm told. "Don't think about it too much. Just do what feels natural. Like nothing exists but you and your target and you're confident you're going to take it down. Shoot."

The arrow flies and pierces the target a few rings above the bulls-eye. It's the first time all afternoon that I've hit anything but the grass and the sky. I reach for a high-five but Katniss hugs me around my middle in congratulations. She is warm. Suddenly, I'm warm too. Her eyes look up at me and she backs away.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," I say with a grin. "I deserved that hug. That's the best shot I've gotten all day."

We spend the rest of the day wandering a nearby park, then settle at an outdoor cafe for dinner. We talk about her growing up in the sticks, her own father's untimely death when she was seventeen just after Prim was born, and her long-lost best friend Gale whom she hasn't seen since he joined the army right after high school.

I've forgotten what it is like to be out on a real date. Not that this is anything like a real date, considering she is married and straight, but it is close. I was right, though. She is fascinating. She is fascinating, and I am rapidly falling in love with her. That last part is a problem. Every time she opens her mouth something lovely comes out and tugs at my heart. Her jokes, her stories, her self-deprecating humor. I guess it isn't enough that I am attracted to her physically, I have to be attracted to her soul as well.

After a decadent dessert we leisurely stroll to my apartment, and she quizzes me about different flower originations. "Tell me about the lilies," she demands with a grin on her face.

I smirk. "You don't want to know about the lilies."

"Yes I do, they're my favorite."

We cross the street toward the wrought iron gate to my apartment building. Her face is flushed from the cold of the day. The tip of her nose is bright red. It is adorable. I'm in trouble. "The lilies mean 'I dare you to love me.'" Her teasing expression grows serious. This is what I'm afraid of. I smile weakly at her. "Thanks for tonight. I had a great time. It was my birthday."

"Really?" Katniss's hues go wide. "Why didn't you say? We could have gone somewhere cheesy where they sing you a song and bring you cake!"

I laugh and hug my arms across my abdomen. "That's exactly why I didn't say. But really, thanks. I haven't had this much fun in a long while."

"Me either."

Here it is again. That electric current. The perfect moment to kiss. My stomach flips. My lips ache. Katniss leans in closer to me, so close that I feel the breeze of her unsteady breathing against my nose and lips. Her eyes close.

And nothing happens. A car, a stupid car that I wish I could blow up with my eyes, drives by and ruins the moment. Or maybe she wasn't going to kiss me. Maybe she lost her nerve or found her senses. Either way she backs away from me. It is so awkward I can't decide whether I wanted to kiss her or slap her. Instead I wave.

I fucking _wave_. "Well, good night." I back up until my back hits the iron of my gate and I turn around, opening and shutting it behind me. Shutting her behind me. For the first time since we met, I honestly think she might feel something toward me. But what can we do? She's married. She isn't even gay, as far as I know.

I need to get a grip. I'm not some horned up teenaged girl, I'm a grown-ass woman. I need to settle my emotions and tuck these feelings for her way down inside. Then maybe we might have a shot at being friends.

Somehow, deep in the recesses of my heart and my mind, I know. We can never just be friends. The unstoppable force doesn't discriminate for what's right. It demands to be yielded to, whether you like it or not.


	4. The Kiss

Since I forgot to develop Prim's film in my darkroom I agree to attend her soccer game on Saturday afternoon as punishment. Closing up my shop early, I head over to the pitch that's thankfully within walking distance. The wind howls around me, and I pull my University hoodie tightly around my body, flipping the hood over my head. October isn't usually this cold but autumn is approaching with a vengeance. I scan the crowd to find a familiar face (Katniss's, admittedly) but come up empty. Instead I find the smiling, if not a bit apprehensive, blonde-and-blue-eyed visage of Mrs. Everdeen, who waves me over.

Snaking my way through the crowd I arrive beside her and take in her giant winter coat, the size of whcih would be appropriate for mid-December but looks comically oversized for fall. The game is about twenty minutes underway and with no scoreboard to speak of, I have no idea how the game is going. There is no score, only a lot of shrill screaming. "What's the score?" I lean in to ask Mrs. Everdeen.

"Oh hell if I know. They've scored so much. The keeper for Primrose's team is terrible." I chuckle at her appraisal and turn my head to observe the game. Prim is graceless when it comes to dancing but she has a real gift for soccer. ' _Football_ ,' I hear Cressida correcting me. Mrs. Everdeen and I stand there in silence, breaking it only to encourage Prim or let out quiet disdain as they are scored against for a tenth time.

"Johanna, may I ask you a personal question?" From my limited experience with Mrs. Everdeen, it doesn't seem like she'd seek permission to ask something invasive, but rather brazenly plow ahead. Unfortunately my mind immediately goes to the worst scenario: that she thinks I'm a bad influence on Prim because I'm gay.

I swallow down my apprehension. "Of course."

"Do you have feelings for my daughter?" Watching Prim weave in and out of defenders, I widen my eyes slowly rotate my head to face Mrs. Everdeen. She misinterprets my confusion and rolls her own tired eyes. "Not Primrose, obviously. My other daughter. My _married_ daughter."

While the judgement is pervasive in her voice it is overall not an accusation. Or at least it doesn't feel like one. Women have a peculiar talent for delivering vicious thorns nestled in a rose. Typically I can sniff them out. My eyes return to their normal size as I push my gaze back out on to the field. A few of the girls are screaming at the keeper on their team, and the coach has gone out to replace the poor girl with someone from the bench.

"I don't know." _Yes._

It is a nearly honest answer but not a satisfactory one. Mrs. Everdeen stares me down with the same blue eyes that look up reverently at me in Primrose. "You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?" Her thin lips finally lift in a smile. She lacks the cute dimples Katniss has, but the smile is similarly pretty nonetheless. "As a woman, a woman who used to be married to a wonderful man who was taken from me, I cannot stand to see a love-filled marriage ruined on an 'I don't know.' Peeta is an amazing man. He loves Katniss very much, and you don't strike me as a homewrecker, Johanna."

"I'm not," I reply softly, an edge in my tone that I don't intend, but it is there. It seems to amuse her. The small wrinkles around her eyes crease as she looks at me.

"As her mother, my only concern is Katniss's happiness." Mrs. Everdeen sighs, fixating her eyes on the field in front of us. Her breath expels from her chest while she collects her thoughts. "When Katniss was small, she was always very dutiful. She adored her father and strove to keep him satisfied. He passed away when she was a teenager, and I was inconsolable. She tried and tried but she couldn't reach me. I didn't want to be reached."

Another sigh escapes her lips as we watch the soccer ball fly over our heads and into the parking lot behind us. "It changed her. She became even more disciplined. She allowed herself no happiness. It was always 'do what's right, do what's needed.' Without her father, and with my grief all but paralyzing me, Katniss has always done for others. Mostly for Primrose, but for anyone whom she thought she needed to help. I can't remember the last time she did for herself."

"No offense, but I don't know why you're telling me this."

She clears her throat and levels her eyes at me. The whistle blows for halftime and Prim is dejectedly jogging toward us. "What I'm trying to say, Johanna, is that a mother can sense things about her children that others cannot. You breathe life into my daughter." Her blue eyes ice over as she takes me by the arm. Her hands are calloused, but somewhat soft. I think I remembered Katniss mentioning her mother having been a nurse. Those are healer's hands. "I want her to be happy. I want her to do what she wants to do."

"That's what I want, too."

"Good." She offers a tight-lipped smile just before Prim reaches us, and lowers her voice. "Then stay away from her and let her decide."

* * *

Mondays are my off day, a day for photography, errands, bookwork, etc. This Monday, I forsake all of those things to spend a brisk autumn day with Cressida. She has been badgering me since my (in her words) "near-miss" with Katniss two weeks ago so I finally agreed to meet her for coffee to explain. But honestly there isn't much to explain. I don't know what happened.

Cressida heaves a sigh and tips the coffee back into her mouth, shaking her head in disappointment. "You should have kissed her. You're such a twat."

My eyes nearly bulge from their sockets at Cressida mouthing off inside the quaint shop. Sometimes I truly think that she believes she can get away with using swear words in public because of her accent. "I am not. I'm sorry I respected her boundaries and her fucking marriage, Cress."

She blows me off with a wave of her hand. "Marriage shmarriage. She clearly wants you. And you're an absolute fool for her already so why not just fuck?"

The elderly couple next to us are scandalized by Cressida's vulgarity. I am not fazed by Cressida's dirty mouth but I am nearly always embarrassed by it. "You know how I feel about being a homewrecker." Cressida was by my side during my time as the wedge between the two girls in college. She saw firsthand how destroyed I was at ruining their happiness. That's not who I am. Not who I ever want to be.

The blonde flips her hair to the side, exposing the shaved part of her head and the green vines tattooed along her scalp. Head tattoos usually scream 'meth head' but on Cressida, it's beautiful and striking. People are frightened of her because of them. That, and her crass mouth. In reality, she is a huge sweetheart and a ferociously loyal friend. "I understand, darling. But you deserve happiness too."

I lean back into the uncomfortable wooden chair and shift my weight. "Not at the expense of someone else." We sit in silence for another few moments, both of us keen on people-watching the patrons who bustle in and out of the bright cafe. Cressida's natural eye as a producer for people and their personalities makes her quite fond of silently watching people interact. When I have my camera I enjoy it a bit more, but today I'm distracted and brooding.

"Well well," Cressida says, looking over my shoulder at the front door. Her face brightens considerably and I respond with a set of narrowed brown eyes. That glint in her eye isn't friendly, it is downright suspicious. Years of friendship has honed my perception of Cressida's cheeky, unpredictable side. "Katniss! Over here!" Her cheerful voice belies her devious intentions and I nearly choke on my coffee as I heard the click of boots come up behind me.

"Hi Cressida, Johanna," Katniss greets in a soft tone and a wide smile. Where does she get off being so goddamn beautiful all the time? Can she just, for once, look unkempt and unattractive? Give me some reprieve from my unrequited affection for her. "How are you?"

"We're excellent," Cressida answers for us both, either out of sympathy because of the dumfounded look on my face or because she is being a bitch. Oftentimes I can't tell the difference. Pulling out her cell phone, she flicks the screen and a fake panic rises in her eyes. Abruptly standing from the table, she gathers her things in a rush. "Look at the time. I have to be at a thing. A large thing. You can take my seat, Katniss."

Leaving us in her wake, Katniss stands next to the table, looking just as shocked and disoriented as I am. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before I finally stand up. "Go ahead and sit. I'll grab you a drink." I know I said I wasn't going to pursue her, but in my defense, she showed up here and I actually have no defense against Katniss Everdeen at all.

She nods in agreement and sits in Cressida's vacated seat, gray eyes flicking up to me. "An iced tea, please."

Her eyes are out the window as I watch her from the cashier's line. There is such a sadness that shrouds her, and something deep inside me yearns to lift it. Returning with her beverage, I slide it across the table and offer up a smile. "How have you been? I didn't see you at Prim's game on Saturday." Which was probably a good thing, considering her mother essentially told me to stay the hell away from her daughter. That might have turned out a bit awkward with Katniss present.

Her gaze falls away from me. When I finally catch it again, a pain exists in those stormy gray hues that strikes a discordant noise in my heart. "Yeah, I know. I saw Prim afterward, but Peeta and I couldn't make it." She's giving me a story in outlines. Empty, like words written in bubble letters. "Thank you for going, though. Prim was really excited to see you. I think you might be her favorite person."

I wet my lips and smile. "She's one of my favorite people, too. And I owed her one since I hadn't finished developing her pictures." With a snicker I remove the lid of my to-go cup and stare down at the whipped topping. Giving my espresso a ginger sip, I catch Katniss staring at me. Whilst I normally am distracted by her eyes, I am now distracted by how hard she is trying to stifle a laugh.

"You've got a little..." She trails off, motioning to her face. I raise my eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes. She leans across the table and slowly swipes the whipped cream off my nose. More intimate than she intended, we square off in a staring contest like a Mexican standoff. Eventually she brings her hand back to her face and licks the cream off of her finger. I struggle to keep my face impassive, but my natural instinct is to topple this table and kiss her right here in this busy cafe. "Tastes good."

Swallowing my desire, I try to manage a cool smirk. "Then maybe you should've indulged a little and got something other than bland iced tea."

She pouts. "I like iced tea," she stiffly defends.

  
"There is a time for iced tea, Katniss Everdeen, and there's time for indulgence."

Her hands wrap around her iced tea. "Can't drink stuff like that all the time. It'll rot your teeth out. Not to mention the leg you'll lose to diabetes."

"And I do have nice legs." Katniss snorts at my petulance, and I reach across the table. "You know, sometimes, it's okay to give in," I say, giving her fingers a gentle touch with mine.

As if I'm made of fire, she quickly jerks her hand backward. Her tea topples over and even though her reflexes are quick, a large portion of it cascades on to her shirt and pants. Her cheeks creep up red with embarrassment as she gets out of her seat quickly, but quietly.

Pretending to stifle my chuckles, I offer a handful of flimsy napkins that she tries dabs on her clothing to no avail. Sensing the futility of this endeavor, I rise from my seat. "Hey, my place is like two blocks away. If you want you can come by and dry off?" I suggest as innocently as possible, but to deny my intention of spending more time with her would make me a real, dirty liar. She looks unsure so I attempt to put on my best "comforting" face and voice. "It's really not a big deal. We're about the same size. Plus, you can pick up Prim's prints that I finished."

Katniss nods, still wordless. Securing the lid back on her tea, she follows me out of the cafe and into the cold air. Her wet clothes cause her to shiver as we make our way toward me apartment. "Sorry I was such a spaz back there."

I shorten my stride so we are walking side-by-side. "Don't worry about it. Even perfectly put together girls like you are allowed to be a little messy."

"It's a good thing it was only iced tea," she offers with a playful smile.

"This time."

* * *

Fumbling with the keys outside my door, I'm suddenly struck by the notion that Katniss Everdeen is going to see where I live. Once the door is opened and I've ushered her in, I silently watch as she takes in all of my things. The apartment is on the small side. Cozy, as my realtor described it. To the left is a small kitchen with old cabinets and a tiny island in the center. Without any real separation it opens into a small dining area that is next to the balcony doors. The living room consists of a small, green braided area rug that sits beneath an oversized brown couch and an even more oversized larger television that Cressida bought for me. The reason being the copious amounts of gaming consoles that live beneath it. Cressida will often get too drunk to go home, and she wanted a setup similar to what she has, but here in my place for her convenience. 

Katniss smiles as she walks by the pictures on the walls, her fingers tracing along the sleek black edge of the frames. She stops in front of a medium-sized frame and her smile grows wider. "You threw the javelin?"

I cross my arms over my chest as I come up behind her, peering at the photo she's so amused by. It was my senior year of high school and I was out on the track, about to throw my javelin and place second in the competition. Man, I was in better shape then. "Yeah. My dad taught me how to toss axes so I tried to channel that skill into something productive. Hence, javelin."

"Toss axes?" Her tone is light and amused, her eyes sparkling.

I nod. "Yeah. He worked in the lumber yards so the guys there had a lot of axe-throwing competitions. I was pretty good, too." Katniss turns around and faces me, and only then I realize how close in proximity we are. I can smell the mix of perfume and tea on her.

"You'll have to show me sometime." A ribbon of innuendo is laced in her tone and I raise my eyebrow. Either this girl is interested in me or she is going for a gold medal in flirting. She'd win, hands down. "So, where's your bathroom? I'd love to change out of this shirt. My pants are actually okay but my shirt is nearly frozen."

Shaking my head I briefly dip into my bedroom to retrieve a shirt for her to wear. She is slim but a few inches taller than me so I make sure to find something long enough. I don't want her to come out in a crop top and think I'm some kind of pervert. Even though I am. The only thing I can come up with is one of my baseball raglans from when I played softball in high school. "The bathroom is down the hall. I'll go in the dark room and get Prim's pictures together."

Blinking her beautiful eyes in surprise, she pauses. "The dark room is in your apartment?"

"I didn't need the second bedroom so I converted it into a dark room. My landlord doesn't know. He thinks I have a recluse roommate who never opens the door." Katniss laughs as she walks away into my bathroom. The darkroom has a revolving door to keep out light, and I swing through it and into my tiny, red-tinted sanctuary.

Prim's photos are dry, so I begin unclipping them from the laundry line in the back of the room. I stop on the one of Katniss. I hadn't realized when she took it, but Katniss was staring at me over the table when Prim took the photo. My lips curl into a smile as I observe her expression. She looks carefree, without the worry that is usually plagued on her beautiful features. I am deeply moved to be someone who can set her mind at ease. Even if nothing ever comes about between us, I know that I have a special place in her heart. That might be all I get.

I am so lost in my thoughts I don't hear the sweep of the revolving door behind me. Only when her footsteps carry closer to me do I turn around. I open my mouth to speak but I can't. The way she is looking at me, combined with the sight of her wearing one of my shirts, renders me speechless. It's like she's carrying me with her, against her chest. "Johanna..."

"Yes?" I am tight up against the drip sink connected to the wall underneath the photo line. My name sounds amazing coming from her mouth, especially like that. Low, with purpose. My traitorous body shudders when I hear it.

"Johanna, I don't know what to do. When I'm around you, I feel something I've never felt before." I swallow down my surprise and nod for her to continue. We're doing this, now, I realize. Either acceptance or rejection. Here in my apartment. I think about how close by my bed is, how I'd love to press her into my mattress and blanket her with kisses. If this went well, perhaps I could. "But it's something I should not feel." _Fuck._ Her eyes lift to mine and even in the extremely dim light of the room I see the sadness. "I'm married, for God's sake. To a perfectly wonderful guy. A guy who'd do anything for me." Her arms cross over her stomach as she looks around at some of the other photos still developing. "And it's not fair because I love him. I really do love him." She steps closer to me and I place the photos in my hand on the edge of the sink next to us. "I love him... but I want you." The words leave her mouth slowly, as if she's trying to keep them inside and they insist on bursting forth. "I want you, and frankly, I don't know what the hell to do with that." She places her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrow at me. Despite the challenging look on her face, her eyes are desperate. "Help me. Kick me out or kiss me. Do something, please. Tell me I'm not crazy."

"You're not crazy," I admit in a soft voice. "I don't know what to do, either."

With a tilt down, she gently places her lips on mine. It's not quite a kiss, but it's certainly not _not_ a kiss. Whatever is going through her mind, I don't kiss her back, but instead let her explore my lips with her own. Pulling away, heavy-lidded gray eyes bore into mine with an intensity that steals my breath. Then suddenly she crushes her lips against mine. My hands whip up immediately to run through her silky brunette locks, pulling her down into a deeper kiss. My tongue massages against hers in rhythm, our kiss growing hungrier as her hands wander up my stomach, her fingers splaying out to touch as much of me as possible. She passes over my breasts briefly until she comes up to my collar and wraps her hands around it, tugging me closer to her.

My lungs burn as I pull away from her, both of our breaths coming fast and furious. She allows me almost no time to recuperate before she presses her body flush against mine and kisses me again. This time it is much slower, much more serious than before. Each slow stroke of her tongue and pass of her lips feels like the words we haven't said. Or really, the words I haven't said. Never has a kiss felt so much like drowning. I take control of the kiss and spin us around, pressing her against the sink where I had just stood. I swallow down a groan from her throat as her hands move up my neck and thread in my hair.

When I release her she kisses my forehead, a faint smile on her lips. Her ragged pants are like music to my ears as they bounce off my skin. But as deliriously wonderful as this moment is, it is just as confusing. "What does this mean?" I ask, afraid to break the moment but afraid to keep pushing forward with no destination.

"I don't know," comes her honest reply. "I didn't really think about it. I just wanted to taste you." I expel an aroused breath and her eyes peer down at my lips. _Kiss me again._ "That was better than I thought it was going to be," she confesses, almost disappointed. But she doesn't kiss me again. She reaches behind her back and grabs the photos, holding them in front of her. "Can I - this is going to sound really bad - but can I have some time to think? I know I just threw myself at you but I'm feeling a little overwhelmed. And I really, really want to kiss you again but I should probably ...not do that."

"I disagree on that last part but yeah, I think you're probably right." She nods her head and bit her lower lip. As her eyes drag from the floor up to my face, she takes a small step toward me, her head leaning down toward my face. My stomach flips in anticipation of another embrace. Instead she presses her lips against my cheek and gives me an apologetic smile.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your shirt. I promise I'll return it." She winks at me as she exits the darkroom, leaving me hot under the collar and alone. I rest my butt against the developing table, drawing my fingers over my lips. I can still feel the tingle of her mouth against mine, taste the faint hint of mint from her tea.

I've never been kissed like that before. I never want to be kissed any other way again.

* * *

 

After adjusting the camera, I snap another photo of my new shipment of azalea. While I detest the use of a website, I do enjoy taking the photos of the new flowers and posting them there. It's nice to spread a little beauty around. The door jingles behind me as I line up another shot. "Just a minute."

"Take your time," the forlorn voice calls from behind me. I know that voice. Once the photo is captured, I turn around to the smiling face of Peeta Mellark. Despite his tone, he looks just as affable as he always is. I have a sudden, selfish thought.

_I kissed your wife and I'll do it again and again until she's mine._

"What can I do for you?" I ask, pulling the camera strap over my head and placing it on the counter. Suddenly I don't know what to do with my hands. They get shoved in my pockets while I wait for him to answer. He has similar creases in his cheeks when he smiles, like Mrs. Everdeen. Brighter blue eyes, though. Open and honest. Not like me, with my dark brown eyes full of secrets and wife kisses.

"Well, I was hoping you could set me up with some flowers."

I nod and motion around awkwardly. "What kind? I just got in some beautiful azaleas."

Peeta admires them, rubbing the petals between his fingers. He has soft hands like I imagine all painters and pencil-pushers do. My hands are rougher from years of tossing axes and digging in the dirt. Katniss has very disparate taste in men and women. "These are beautiful and I may have to get them, too. But I was going to get something for Katniss. You know what she likes."

A loud cough expels from my chest and Peeta raises an eyebrow at me. "What? No, I don't, I don't."

He smiles at me and I think of how he must have had his pick of women. Charming, self-effacing, smart, successful, funny. Not to mention pretty handsome, not that I am a good judge of a man's attractiveness. But I can see what Katniss sees in him. He takes his time appreciating beauty. Like me, he has a weakness for beautiful things. But unlike me, he only admires them. I always lust for them, needing to make them mine. "Lilies," he says, interrupting my inner monologue and inept rambling. "She likes lilies."

"Right." Given a task I can actually accomplish, I scuttle around the shop to assemble a bouquet.

Peeta wanders around as well, admiring the colorful assortments that decorate my shop. He clears his throat and glances over at me as I arrange the bouquet in light green wrapping. "You and Katniss been getting along? She said she saw you the other day."

Panic rises in my throat but I push it down and instead bring my eyes up to meet his guileless blues. "Yeah she's- she's a nice girl." _  
_

"Ah, then maybe you don't mind doing me a favor?" Apprehensively I flick my eyes up at him from the flowers. "I'm leaving for a business trip. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind taking my place for the time being?" I just about have a heart attack at his words before he clarifies them. "Katniss doesn't like to be home alone. I figured maybe if you two had hit it off you wouldn't mind. I ran it by her and she seemed okay with it. It would only be for a little while."

I am surprised to hear that. Her and I alone together for any amount of time is probably a bad idea, she has to know that. I can barely be trusted with her in public, never mind alone in her apartment. Surrounded by the smell of her and the memory of Peeta. "Oh. Um, I guess I could do that. Sure."

"She doesn't um..." He blushes and scratches the back of his neck. "Did she say anything about me?" My movements still on the flowers, the noise of the paper coming to a screeching halt. The blond man gazes at me embarrassedly and shakes his mop of blond hair. "I don't want to put you in a spot. We've just been having small issues. And I don't know if it's the settling in of marriage or if there's a real problem." I don't respond for a while and Peeta shrugs. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't want to make things awkward between you. I know you're friends." He reaches his hand into his back pocket and withdraws his wallet. "How much for the flowers?"

"On the house," I reply in a low tone, my eyes downcast. Yeah, let me charge you for the make-up flowers over problems I'm causing. That'll sit well karmically. I'll get hit by a bus as soon as I step out the door. "Please. It's my pleasure."

"Thanks." He nabs the flowers from me and starts toward the door. It's started to drizzle outside and Peeta gazes into the rain with an uneasy twitch. I love thunderstorms. Clearly he doesn't feel the same. I imagine he likes to watch them from inside, whereas I like to be out in them.

"If you want to know what's bothering her, you should ask her. Not me," I call to his back.

He peers at me over his shoulder and smiles sadly. "That's kind of you, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because what if there is?"

* * *

Peeta's flight leaves late on a Thursday afternoon, so I close my shop early that night and head to my apartment to gather my things. I ignore Cressida's repeated text messages with various "adult activities" Katniss and I can partake in and instead pack my duffel bag without expectation. Who knows what will greet me at that threshold? A regretful heterosexual? More than likely.

Gathering my courage, I knock on her door and anxiously await her arrival. It swings open and I offer a smile. "Hey Katniss," I greet.

Katniss says nothing. She takes me by the jacket and practically tosses me inside the apartment. Once inside, I'm spun around and pinned against the wall opposite the door. Her foot kicks back and slams the door shut behind her, then crushes our lips together. My duffel bag hits the floor, unnoticed. Her lips are tenacious as she yanks my jacket off my shoulders and disregards it.

"Hey Johanna," she says as her mouth leaves my lips in favor of dragging down my jawbone, leaving light pink stains from her lipstick and suckling on my neck. Her hands run down the length of my henley-clad forearms until our fingers entwine. She then pulls them up and aggressively pins them above my head. Every part of my skin feels aflame as she presses the trunk of her body against mine. "I can't stop thinking about you."

I try to free my hands but she pushes them harder against the wall, holding me in place. Evidently I am not to move until she is done. Complaining is the last thing on my mind. This is more than just out pedestrian making out in my apartment. This is foreplay. This is more than I was expecting. "Katniss."

That breaks her from her concentration on giving me a hickey and she slowly pulls away, giving me one last passionate, closed-mouth kiss. Her pretty eyes flutter open as I try to regain control of my breathing. My hands are still above my head, her face only a whisper from mine. "Is it okay that I did that?"

"I'm not complaining," I manage to get out in the most coherent voice I can. She sets my nerves on fire, this girl. A grin spreads across her features as she lets my hands go. I bend down and pick up my bag and my jacket, slinging the latter over my arm. It feels bizarre to be inside their apartment without Peeta. However, his touch is everywhere. His paintings on the walls, the slight scent of cologne hanging in the air, the flour-stained apron slung over one of their dining room chairs.

I feel like an intruder. Unfortunately for my moral compass, I am too drugged on Katniss's affection to really give a fuck. We walk upstairs and pass their bedroom on our way to the guest bedroom. Katniss opens the door and allows me in. The room smells like lavender and fresh laundry. "I figured you would want your own room."

Tossing my bag down on the floor, I spin on my heel and cross my arms. "Oh really? After that introduction in the doorway, I'm surprised I got a bed at all."

Her gray eyes move to the floor, obviously feeling a pang of guilt about having practically tried to fuck me against the wall about two minutes ago. "If you're uncomfortable with this, I understand."

Shrugging off my jacket, I stride across the room toward her. Arresting her chin with my fingers, I let my fingers glide along her jaw, up to her hair, where I tuck an errant strand of brunette locks behind her ear. "If you're looking for judgement, then you're in the wrong place. I have lost all objectivity when it comes to you. It's gone, along with my good sense, my reason, my mind. Katniss, I'm crazy about you."

If I can at least spend the weekend making her smile like she is in this moment, I will be happy. But really, I want to spend the rest of my life making her smile like that. For now, just the weekend will have to suffice.


	5. The Weekend

Because I can't possibly feel more guilty than I already do, we spend the night eating a decadent dessert Peeta baked for us as we sit on their couch. In defense of Katniss's purchase, the couch is absurdly comfortable. I don't know what it cost, but it was worth it. She curls into my body while we watch Gladiator, which is one of my favorite films.

The famous "Are you not entertained?" scene plays and Katniss scoffs under her breath from beneath the blankets. I lift the heavy knit fabric and look at her with a raised eyebrow. "Why are you scoffing?"

"Because," she says, tucking the blanket under her chin and looking up at me, "he's being a little showy."

I chuckle and toss a piece of popcorn at her, which she quickly finds and pops in her mouth. "A little showy? He's fighting for his life! I can't even imagine that. Being put in some deadly arena and having to fight to the death? I think I'd be pretty angry, too. In fact, I know I would be. I'd wanna kill that fucker Coriolanus."

"Commodus," she corrects with a grin. She removes her hand from underneath the blanket and places it on my cheek, rubbing my cheekbone with her thumb. "I can't imagine you that angry. You're not very threatening, little florist."

I bristle in offense and move away from her slightly. "I'll have you know I am pretty fierce when I have to be. I don't have many weaknesses."

Katniss chuckles again and shifts her weight so she is on her knees on the plush couch, facing me while I stare straight at the screen. "Mm, maybe, but you have at least one weakness," she sings to me in a teasing tone with a smug smirk plastered on her face. I quirk my eyebrow in a 'oh yeah?' manner and she nods. Her lips find their way to a sensitive spot behind my earlobe and I take in a sharp breath. "Right here," she murmurs against my skin. I shudder hard and my heart begins thumping loudly inside my chest.

"Okay," I breathe, tilting my neck so she can have better access in spite of my objections to her premise. "But that only applies to you."

Katniss pulls away and mirrors my raised eyebrow with one of her own. "Are you saying I'm your weakness, Miss Mason?"

I grunt and yank the blankets closer to me, eyes pinned on the screen. "Maybe. Shut up."

We settle back into the couch with Katniss now completely on my body, head resting on my shoulder. Her breathing evens out, culling a warm smile from me. Having her fall asleep on me (again) almost makes me forget about my raging libido until she brushes her lips against the skin of my ear and whispers:

"I think you're my weakness, too."

* * *

I awaken alone the next morning, confused at my location. Groggily I remember retiring into the guest room last night, wistfully watching Katniss disappear into her own room. Despite this being what the hell this is, I don't want to sleep where her husband sleeps. Sitting up, I squint at the clock. 8am. Ugh. The shower faucet creaks to a halt and not soon after, a rather wet and nude Katniss appears in my doorway, covered only in the shortest of towels. 

"Good morning, sunshine. Did you sleep okay in here?"

I nod. "Sure." Tossing the blankets over my legs, I stand and stretch from the bed. I am acutely aware of her stare on me and turn to her, running my fingers through my tousled hair. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Katniss raises her eyebrow and places a hand on her hip. "I thought _you_ were the babysitter, Mason."

I bite my lower lip and prepare a response, but seeing her in a towel completely unnerves me. "Go get dressed," I instruct in a rush. "Wear something flexible."

"Oh god, are you going to make me exercise? Are you like, one of those people that goes for early morning runs?"

She's hilariously horrified and I shake my head, ushering her down the hallway. "No, I'm usually too hungover for that shit. Just get dressed and meet me downstairs."

* * *

 

"Johanna, I'm nervous."

"It's gonna be fine. Everyone's nervous the first time. But trust me, you'll want to do it again."

"What if I get hurt?"

"I won't let you get hurt."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Our faces nearly touch, my arms tightly snaked around her waist. It took quite a bit of convincing to get her up on this bridge. But now that she is up here and we're wrapped together following our lesson, there is delight in her eyes. Now that our feet are on the edge, helmets strapped to our heads and the instructor counting down, there is trepidation where there is also thrill.

She kicks a loose pebble from the stone bridge and watches it plummet into the coursing river below us. "Do you trust me?" I whisper against her mouth as the man continues counting down from twelve.

Her eyes flicker to my mouth, then up to my eyes. "Yes." Her voice trembles but her intention is clear.

"Good." I smirk as her eyes look back down my lips. "Because you're going to need it." I pull her close and we leap off the side of the bridge and free-fall toward the river.

* * *

After bungee-jumping (which Katniss made me do three more times) we retire for the rest of the day, lazing around in my bed and binge-watching Netflix until we fall asleep in each other's arms. It is possibly the best day of my life. So far.

On Saturday she wakes me up absurdly early and drags me to the roof of their apartment, where she's laid out a quaint breakfast for us to share. Sitting atop the city, the tangerine sun crawls over the horizon and sheds light on us as we eat in perfect silence. Her hair looks like she is on fire, her eyes robbing the sun of its light and holding it within those stormy hues. What makes her beauty so unbearable is how oblivious she is to it. She simply exists without pretense, but her smile alone has the power to stop my heart. And break it.

Allowing Katniss to choose our activity for the day, we end up at a nearby museum. Museums aren't exactly my cup of tea; I don't like to preside over dead things. Katniss, however, is enthralled. The halls of ancient pottery, classical paintings and knights in armor are making her as giddy as a schoolgirl. She hooks her arm through mine and guides me through her favorite sections. As a result, seeing her enjoy herself causes me to enjoy it as well. Her normally taciturn expression is alight, prattling on almost incessantly through each exhibit.

She possesses a wealth of knowledge on almost all of the subjects. I am extremely impressed and, truth be told, a little turned on. "How did you come by all this information?" I ask after she is finished exuberantly describing an otherwise dull oil painting. Normally I would have passed it up but she somehow makes it illuminate. The same way she makes everything in my life illuminate.

With a sheepish smile, she shrugs. "I studied art history in school. Well, I minored in it. It wasn't practical as a major."

An older couple ends up standing next to us as Katniss explains another painting to me. She goes on detail about the choice in color, the strokes, the subject matter. I nod and listen, trying to absorb the knowledge she is passing on. The couple next to us watches as I get on my knee and tie Katniss's shoelace that has come undone during our walk.

I stand back up and she slides her arm through mine as I put my hand in my coat pocket. The way they are staring at us makes me uncomfortable. Being out means always being prepared for a confrontation. Maybe other people can avoid it, but if I sense someone is judging me for the gender of the person on my arm, I get defensive. I'm not sure what makes people think my affection for another girl is an advertisement to let me know how they feel about homosexuality or gay marriage, but they do anyway.

"You two make an adorable couple," the woman says finally, her wrinkled mouth breaking into a wide smile. I am flabbergasted by her comment and grapple with an answer.

"Oh, um, we're actually -"

"Thank you," Katniss interjects, pulling me closer to her. My eyes flash with surprise but Katniss is cool as a cucumber, staring straight ahead at the couple.

"How long have you been together?" she asks, her arm looped with her husband's. Or the older man that I assume is her husband.

"It seems like forever," Katniss says with a wistful smile.

The woman laughs and gingerly touches Katniss's free arm. "Oh it always does when you're with the person you love. Are you married?"

I stiffen like one of these lifeless paintings on the wall, however my partner is placid. She is enjoying this little act. For me, it is yet another reminder that this isn't real, no matter how much I want it to be. "Yes," she answers, and I am glad my left hand was stuffed in my pocket. Katniss's wedding band is present, as it always is, so we don't look like liars.

"How wonderful!" the man exclaims from beside his wife. "Our niece just had a big gay wedding a few weeks ago! It was lovely. They both looked beautiful. I'm sure you both looked beautiful as well."

Despite being horribly uncomfortable, I can't help but chuckle and nod in agreement. "When I saw her in that dress for the first time, I knew I was a goner," I confess to them, finally joining in on Katniss's charade. Except from the look in her inquisitive gray eyes, she knows I'm not lying. "She was beautiful. And every day I'm discovering that there's more beauty to her than I could've ever imagined."

The woman smacks her husband in the arm. "Why don't you ever talk about me like that?"

"Because they have only just been married! I've been with you longer than some governments have been in place!" The woman huffs so the man places a kiss on her cheek to mollify her. "Any kids? We've got four kids and eight grandchildren."

"Yes," Katniss replies, giving me a playful pinch on the arm that really means 'don't rat me out.' "Twin boys."

Wow, our fantasy life is pretty full. The woman claps her hands excitedly. "Oh, twins! And two boys, my goodness. I'm surprised you had any time to come to the museum alone. What are their names?"

"James," I answer immediately. I smile up at Katniss as her eyes well with tears at the name. It was her father's name. I'm sure when she and Peeta have children, she'll honor him as such. That sobering realization pulls my eyes away from Katniss and back to the couple. I plant on a fake smile. "James and Oliver."

The man beams at us. "Those are great names. Strong names." He pats his wife on the arm. "We'll let you get back to the museum. Thank you for entertaining my wife's curiosity."

The older couple ease their way back into the crowd and I glance over at Katniss. "Twin boys, huh?"

She grins and kisses me on the cheek, turning us down the hallway toward another exhibit. "James and Oliver, huh?" she mocks, nudging me back. "I like those names."

With a scoff I roll my eyes. "Great. I be sure to tell Peeta when he gets back."

Katniss abruptly halts in her step and guides us away from a crowd of students. "What's wrong?"

Exhaling sharply, I detach my arm from her grip and run my fingers through my hair. "Look, I didn't mind your little role play back there, but you and I are not a couple, okay?"

"I know that," she mumbles, expression hard.

"Do you? Maybe you do, but you don't -- I know you asked if I was uncomfortable, and I'm not. I probably should be, but I'm not. But Katniss, I --" Leaning back against the wall, I cross my arms over my chest. "I really fucking like you. And I don't know if you're even gay or not. I know you like to kiss me, and I understand that sexuality is a spectrum and blah blah blah, but there are feelings involved. My feelings. I don't want to be an experiment to you."

Katniss's stony face stares down at me without any twitch or movement at all. She's as still as the statues that surround us. "I like you, too, Jo. You make me feel a way I've never felt for anyone, man or woman." This lifts a smile on my lips, which she accepts hesitantly. "But there is Peeta. And I do love him, that's unquestionable. I care about his feelings and his life."

"Me too," I agree with a downcast gaze.

"But let me worry about him, okay? Let me bear that burden. All I want to do is figure out what this is between us before I rush to any decisions about anything. If this is just some passing fancy, for either of us, then I am not going to ruin his life over that." She takes both my hands in hers and gives them a squeeze. "I need to know that this is real."

"Oh, Katniss." Tipping up, I lay a kiss on her cheek and spread my lips in a tight smile. This woman is going to ruin me. "This is very real."

* * *

 A burst of orange and red sparkles illuminate the sky above the grassy field where Katniss and I sit, sprawled out on an old blanket. I can't remember exactly why there are fireworks in October, but the night is warmer than the last few days so we are enjoying the generously sized and sinfully topped hot dogs, freshly popped popcorn and the sweet swirl of cotton candy that accompanied this little fair. I'm sure we're both going to be puking rainbow colors tonight but it's totally worth it.

Despite being slightly smaller than Katniss, I have her sat in between my legs, my arms tucked under hers, hugging around her middle as we watch the fireworks explode over the lake. We haven't talked much since our confrontation in the museum, but the mood has settled and some of the tension has eased out. Contrary to my stubborn nature, I can't stay mad at the girl. At one point she turned to ask me a question and her entire mouth was stained blue from the cotton candy. It was minutes before I was able to stop laughing and answer her. She's beautiful even when she's messy.

If I lean forward a little I can smell her hair, which smells like cherries. Gathering her hair up, I swing it over her shoulder and press my lips against the base of her neck. As the next bright white firework explodes, it shines a light on the tiny raised hairs beneath her hairline and the goosebumps from the light brush of my lips. She shivers as I rest my chin in the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and peck a small kiss beneath her earlobe.

"Is this okay?" I ask into her ear, smirking against the sensitive skin just below her earlobe as she shivers again because of my touch. It takes all my willpower not to slide my tongue against the skin there and really make her tremble.

"Very much so."

I don't know if this is temporary or the beginning of something extraordinary, but it feels so right that I can't deny myself the pleasure of really feeling her.

"Johanna?" I kiss the side of her neck in place of speaking. "Mm. Johanna, I wanted to tell you. These have been the best two days since - since I don't even know when. I feel more like myself when I'm with you. Happier." It gives me an unreasonable amount of elation to hear her say those words.

Leaning my temple against hers, I nod. "You make me happy, too."

"Shit."

Well that's not exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Swearing under her breath, Katniss nearly knocks me over as she leaps to her feet, rubbing her hand over where my lips had met her skin. Gazing around her anxiously standing form, I finally see what has her so worried. Shit. Mrs. Everdeen, with Prim hot on her tail.

My heart aches inside my chest but I get to my feet as well, brushing off my jeans and folding up the blanket. Mrs. Everdeen weaves through the crowd and the sense of foreboding rises inside my chest. Would she really have the gall to accuse us of something in public, and in front of her young daughter? How much did she actually see?

"Johanna!" Prim exclaims, rushing through rambunctious teenagers to jump into my arms. I smile and lift her into the air to give her a hug, placing her back down on to the grass. "Katniss gave me my pictures!"

"They came out great, you know. You're a real natural with the camera. I'll have to get you a camera of your own one of these days." My eyes begrudgingly look up at Mrs. Everdeen, who seems to be staring directly through Katniss. "Hi, Mrs. Everdeen," I greet as neutrally as possible.

"Johanna," she replies calmly, her eyes never leaving her daughter's. "May I speak to you in private, Katniss?" Katniss nods, the two of them stalk toward a hulking oak tree a few yards away. Prim begins to babble about something from school, but I watch their body language as best I can. Katniss looks extremely upset, her arms waving and her posture defensive.

"Hey Johanna?" Prim tugs on my shirt and I peer down at her with raised eyebrows. "Do you like my sister?"

Oh, children and their incessant need for answers and honesty. Much like her sister, I have a weakness for this little Everdeen, too. "Yeah, I do."

Prim shakes her twin braids and crosses her arms over her chest. "No I mean, do you _like_ _like_ her? Do you want to be her girlfriend?"

Needless to say, I'm taken aback by her straightforward questioning. Of course, taking into consideration what her mother is like, I shouldn't be all that surprised. Unlike Katniss, the other two Everdeens seem to thrive on confrontation. "If that was possible, yes."

"So why don't you ask her? At school we pass notes. You could give Katniss a note. I could help, if you want." Her rapid fire logic is endearing but also makes me inexplicably sad.

A forlorn smile forms on my features as I gaze into the guileless eyes of Primrose. "It's not as easy as all that. Katniss is married. Married means you love only one person."

"Does it have to be the person you're married to?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, unfortunately for me, it does. Katniss is married to Peeta, so she can't be my girlfriend."

"Does that make you sad?"

Stubbing the ground, I fold the blanket over my arms and sigh. "Yeah, Prim, it does."

When Katniss returns with Mrs. Everdeen I try to gauge her mood, but her eyes are clouded over in anger. "Sorry Prim, Johanna and I have to leave," Katniss says abruptly, taking me by the hand and forcefully pulling me through the crowd. I don't know what they spoke about but by the fury in Katniss, it wouldn't be hard to guess. We reach her car at the edge of the park and as we get into the sedan she tosses her keys angrily in the cup holder in between us and places her forehead on the steering wheel.

"So I take it the talk went well?" Katniss responds to my sarcastic rhetorical with a withering glare. "She give you the business about Peeta?"

Katniss bursts into hysterical laughter. "Her meddling knows no bounds. No, she didn't berate me about Peeta. She knows I know that I'm already deplorable." Katniss glares in my direction. "She also instructed me not to hurt your feelings. That you're a 'nice girl' and I shouldn't 'take advantage of you.'"

After pressing my lips together, I burst into the same hysterical laughter. "Wow, what the fuck?"

"I know. I just -- I know that I'm selfish, and that there are a lot of feelings at stake, but mine are at stake, too. I don't want to hurt anyone."

Nabbing her curled fist, I stroke it gently with my fingers. "It's going to happen either way."

Placing her other hand on top of ours, she sniffles and looks to me. "So what do I do?"

"I don't know, Katniss. I've got a stake in this. I can't give you good advice. I'm the girl with the flowers, not the girl with the great conscience or life advice. I can barely decide on a cereal in the morning."

Katniss chuckles and releases her fist, lacing our fingers together. "I didn't mean in general. I mean, what do I do now?"

A heaviness settles in the front seat of her very practical, grey sedan. Clarity rolls in like fog. "Do what you want to do."

"That could be a very dangerous suggestion," Katniss replies, stormy eyes now taking on an intensity I've not quite seen before.

"I'm not afraid."

"Maybe you should be."

* * *

 

We aren't far from her apartment and since Katniss is driving at what I can only assume is the speed of light, I figure we'll probably drive right into the living room in six seconds flat. I am nearly proven right as Katniss comes within inches of slamming the car into the garage door. I'm a thrill-seeker but I'm not quite looking to die in a car crash. I try to look as unaffected by the ride as possible but there's no mistaking the shaking of my knees as I get out of the car. She walks with such a straight purpose I have to jog to keep up with her. We burst inside and she makes a beeline for the stairs with me following like a lovesick puppy, until I hesitate outside my bedroom door. Her eyes are a bizarre mixture of aroused and angry and it makes me a bizarre mixture of aroused and confused. "Do you need an invitation?"

I quirk my eyebrow, still standing at the threshold of the room. "I guess?" I reply weakly, looking down at the carpet. I don't care that it's not their bedroom, it's still a room in their house. It's somewhere Peeta decorated hoping it would be inviting to a guest. Probably not thinking about his wife getting fucked by someone else. Upon looking up, I see that Katniss has removed her shirt and pants, and stands in a pair of deep burgundy lingerie that drops my jaw.

"Is this invitation enough?" Her voice sounds like silk but etched with an adorable vulnerability that causes a wave of something other than desire to wash over me. Frozen solid, I gulp and stand in the doorway. She rolls her eyes in impatience and nabs me by the shirt, dragging me into the room. Crashing over the foot of the bed, I bounce against the mattress and await my fate. Katniss grins wickedly, crawling over me on all fours, hair falling over her shoulders and tickling my body as she gets closer to my face. I've never seen anything look so provocative before in my life. I place my hand on her chest as she leans in to kiss me, gently pushing her back. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Is everything okay?"

"It might be. Are you doing this because your mother doesn't approve?"

"No."

"Are you doing this because you're unhappy with Peeta?"

She sits back on my shins and folds her hands in her lap, releasing one of them to run through her hair. "No, I'm not." Frustration flashes in her eyes. "If you don't want to do this, tell me. If you don't want me --"

" _Don't want you_?" I sputter, as if she has spoken in another language. The mere concept is so absurd I nearly laugh in her face. I lift myself up on to my palms, locking my elbows. "Katniss, I've never wanted anyone more. Not just anyone, but _anything_. I don't just really fucking like you. I think I'm in love with you." I watch her face for a reaction and it's similar to watching flipping television stations. Surprise, guilt, confusion, happiness. We gaze at each other in silence for what seems like a year before I can't handle it anymore. "So what now? You gonna 'kick me out or kiss me'?" I ask, mocking our first embrace.

Before I can even really see the smirk on her face she leans forward and captures my lips in another bruising kiss. Still halfway between laying down and sitting up, I slide my hands down her bare back and grip her tightly with my nails. Her surprised gasp gives me the leverage and opportunity to press her on to her back and smother her with my body.

I've had more than my fair share of women, pupils dilated in pleasure and chests heaving, but I've never once looked on something as beautiful as Katniss right now, staring at me with those world-ending grey eyes. "You were right." I blink in surprise at her words, spoken with a breathlessness that I helped engender. She looks as surprised as I do with her confession but I am heartened nonetheless. "This is real."

As I press my lips against hers I try to push forth the emotions welling up inside of me. The kiss is soft. Her mouth is occupied with mine but somehow she manages to sneak her hands underneath my shirt and work her hands across my stomach. I groan as my lips leave hers and travel across her cheek, nipping at her earlobe and forcing her to listen to my ragged breathing.

I think I may have ripped my shirt as I tear it off and toss it aside, taking her chin between my fingers and kissing her hard once more as my skin meets hers. I've never felt anything like this - like I want to touch all of her body at once. I can't get enough of her lips and her skin and her breath. My lips and teeth lick and graze the skin of her neck, positively drunk on the sound of her pleasure and taste of her sweat. Her hand snakes underneath the waistband of my jeans and without any preamble her fingers slide inside me.

I wheeze in surprise as she curls her fingers against my walls, no friction at all, which is not surprising. Just being near her is enough to make me wet, let alone have her panting, half-naked beneath me. She mumbles "oh my god" beneath her breath as she moves inside me once more and despite my being intoxicated, I let out a chuckle.

Grabbing her wrist, I pull her out of me and her closed eyes snap open in annoyance. "What the hell?"

In place of answering I move my hands beneath her back and unclasp her bra, tossing it to the side and lowering my mouth to her chest. Slowly I drag my tongue around the swell of her breast, grinning as shudders shoot through her body. Her hand thumps against the mattress, clutching the fabric until she finds another target, winding her fingers in my hair. She tries to move me to where she wants my mouth to be but I will not be rushed.

My tongue darts out and swipes along the outside of her nipple, spelling my name out across her skin as I travel to the other breast and do the same. The curses directed at me serve only to make me smirk against her skin. My thigh presses between her legs as I lower my lips around her nipple and flick my tongue against it. She arches her back into me, pressing her stomach against mine. After a few minutes of lavishing my attention on her breasts I dip down her stomach, raking my nails and swirling my tongue across the plane of her abdomen. I reach my destination and loop my fingers underneath her panties, dragging them off of her legs. My hands and lips trace her legs from calf to thigh, my arms stretch over her stomach, and my nails dig into her soft skin as I situate myself between her legs.

My name hisses out from between her teeth as I blow air against her hot, wet folds. Gently I run the tip of my tongue in between her slit, holding her hips down with my hands as they buck upward upon contact. I lap up the excess fluids that have begun to seep out from within her, gingerly probing her center with my tongue. My hands come up between her thighs as I spread her open for me, momentarily dazed by this new reality. My tongue plunges inside her, moving with her pelvis as she shoots upward and back down on to the bed. Her hands find their way into my hair as I penetrate slowly in and out of her, feeling her walls clench against my tongue.

From her mouth comes ungodly moans as I continue to fuck her as slowly as I can, ignoring her hooded nub for as long as she can hold out. My movement ceases for a moment as I let her rock against my mouth, fucking herself against my tongue in a rhythm she dictates. Closing my lips around her core I suck gently, causing a throb to go through her that I feel on my tongue. I curl my tongue around her clit, massaging it in slow, gentle movements. Soon my hand joins my tongue, rubbing the outer lips of her pussy maddeningly slow.

"Oh my fucking god, Johanna, fuck me." It's all the persuasion I need to immerse my fingers inside her throbbing center. It only takes a few more moments of my tongue flicking her clitoris and my fingers pushing against her g-spot for her to unravel with jerking hips, a hoarse scream shooting up from the back of her throat. I kiss my way up her stomach, not relenting on my pushing inside her. Her hips continued to buck against my hand. "More," she wheezes out as my lips met her neck.

I add a third finger inside her and she moans through clenched teeth. Her fist grabs a handful of my hair as she forces our lips together, groaning as she tastes herself on my tongue. I break the kiss only to move my mouth to her ear and compel her to listen to my grunting as I fuck her as hard as I can. My arm begins to cramp but the minor pain only urges me on, the slick sound of her wetness soaking my fingers bringing me close to orgasm without being touched.

I'm not sure I'm going to be able to make her climax again until I speak. "Fuck, baby, you're so wet," I coo into her ear.

She clutches at me desperately with sweaty hands, digging her short fingernails into the skin of my back. "Holy shit, yes. Don't stop."

"Talking?" I ask breathlessly, getting a curt and impatient nod in return. I smirk and lower my voice to a rasp. "I'm gonna make you come so hard you won't be able to walk." She lets out a tiny squeal and my eyes roll back in pleasure. I'm not one for dirty talk, but if that's her thing, then who am I to circumvent her passions? Though in the back of my mind, I can't help but think that her usual partner probably does not partake. "Jesus fucking Christ you feel so good. You're making me so wet." She groans. "You're so tight, baby." I grunt as I pick up my speed. "You wanna come? You need to, don't you?" I ask condescendingly. Her whimpers start coming faster and louder. "You like this? You like how hard I'm fucking you?" Her teeth grip her lower lip as she nods again. "I bet you don't want me to stop but you need to come, don't you, baby?"

"Holy shit, Johanna," she gasps. "Yes."

"Come for me," I bid in a whisper into her ear and almost immediately she does, her soaked walls constricting against my fingers as she rides out her orgasm. She sucks in a long breath and expels it slowly as I remove my hand from inside her, taking my time to leisurely lick her arousal from my fingers.

I am still hovering over her as she recovers, placing chaste kisses over her dampened face. Her eyes return to normal as she stares up at me, a delirious smile on her face. "I have never ...twice... in my life," she confesses between intakes of breath. I can't stop the proud smile from emerging on my face. She leans up and kisses me, igniting the already stoked flame in my belly. I am sure she has never been with a girl before so I am prepared to go to sleep a little agitated. My concerns are unfounded as she pulls away and reveals the fiery delight in her eyes. "My turn."

She wriggles out of my grasp and I wiggle out of my pants. She makes quick (if not a little novice) work of my bra and panties and she ends up behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist. We both stand on our knees as she pushes my hair forward to kiss my neck and shoulders, her hands fondling my breasts. She stops suddenly and pulls back.

"You have a tattoo," she remarks, running her fingers along my shoulder blade where I do, indeed, have a tattoo. "What is it?" she asks in a whisper, placing kisses along the ink lines.

Peering over my shoulder, I place my hand over the one she has kept on my breast and urge her to continue her ministrations. "It's a tulip." It's just the black ink outline of a tulip, along with the stem. It's only three inches down my shoulder, which Katniss is now tracing with her tongue.

"Why isn't it colored in?"

"Because I couldn't decide on a color. Each means something different. White and yellow mean unrequited love or hopeless love. I'd never had that, until recently." Her lips pause against my skin. "Red and purple mean undying, passionate love or a love that lasts forever. I've never had that either."

Without notice she bites down hard on my shoulder blade, sucking the skin with fervor. When she's finished she drops light kisses against what is surely a bruise, and I feel her lips turn up against my skin. "Now it's red _and_ purple." Her lips find my neck as her hands travel down my stomach, sliding back inside me with ease. I arch into her breasts which are now firmly pressed against my back. Her fingers drift upward to circle my clit, prompting my legs to shake beneath me.

She wraps my hair in her fist and forces me into a kiss as she pushes her fingers inside me. "Fucking hell, Katniss." There's not much more of this I can take. She senses this and leans into my ear, grunting in effort as she brings her other hand around my side as well, furiously rubbing my clit. A powerful orgasm rocks m back into her and she braces my weight while she slows her pace. For as long as I can take it, I let her continue to massage my clit and bury her fingers deep inside me, drawing out tiny aftershock orgasms. I want to be this close to her forever.

I drop to my hands, folding my elbow and collapsing onto my back. Katniss flops down next to me, both of us breathless. "Wow," Katniss says in an expelled breath. She curls her arms around me and snuggles into my body. I feels like we should have a talk. Discuss what we did or what we're going to do.

But within moments she is fast asleep in my arms, and I am wide awake staring at the picture on the wall of Peeta and Katniss emerging from the church to a shower of flower petals. My flower petals. I was in that moment, but not how I wanted. And now I am here, with her, but not how I want. Not really. Not when I can still see his pale blue, trusting eyes staring at me from the wall.


	6. The Reality

The following morning falls like a cold rain. With it comes the sobering realization that Peeta will be coming home in a few hours and my time as Katniss's other half is rapidly approaching its end. While she sleeps I take a quick shower in their bathroom, grimacing at the Axe body soap and silver razor hanging from their shower-head basket. His touch really is everywhere and I can't escape it living in his home with his wife.

I cut off the water and step out of the shower. The mirror has barely fogged since I take pretty quick showers. They make me feel claustrophobic. Anyway, I lean my palms on the smooth marble of their vanity's countertop. Katniss's things are strewn about; a hairdryer here, some brandless white face lotion there, a few discarded bobby pins about. A can of shaving cream stands in the corner, looming over everything as I stare at myself in the mirror.

Who have I become? The same homewrecker who destroyed a perfectly normal couple's relationship years ago? Am I really that selfish? The worst part is I don't feel like a bad person. I feel entitled to my happiness because Katniss loves me back. We are in love, just in unfortunate circumstances. Can I be blamed for following my heart and allowing Katniss to follow hers?

Yes, I can, I resign with a sigh. Drying myself with one of their towels, and I change back into my clothes and give myself one last, long, hard stare in the mirror. Potentially when I open that door, I could face a heartbreaking rejection. It would not be unreasonable for her to have come to the conclusion that her marriage is worth more than this fling we've had. Real or not real, this could be it.

Returning to the bedroom I find Katniss is still in bed, tucked into her sheets but laying up against the headboard. She's cradling a bowl of cereal in her lap, gray eyes fixed on whatever anthropomorphic animation is playing loudly on the television. Of course she would cutely watch cartoons in the morning with a bowl of cereal. She just has to be heartwrenchingly perfect at all times.

"Hey beautiful," she greets in a warm, morning husk, patting the spot next to her on the bed. My traitorous cheeks flare red at the pet name as I gaze down at her. This is something I ache to have the chance to get used to: greeting her in the morning, hair mussed from sex the night before, naked and tucked into our sheets. But these aren't our sheets and that isn't our bed. That isn't even my girlfriend. "What's wrong?"

I suppose my trepidation is worn on the outside as I drop my eyes to the carpet. What am I going to say? I have no regrets about last night. I want Katniss, and not just physically like last night. I want her wholly. "I think we need to talk about ...about us."

"What about us?" Katniss responds, picking up the remote to flick off the television. It doesn't go off but she ignores it and tosses the remote away. She sets her bowl down on the bedside table next to her and looks to me. In spite of her innocent question I can tell in her eyes she knows of what I am referencing.

I cross my arms over my chest. "You know what. Last night, this whole weekend." Sauntering to the bed, I perch myself on the edge and tuck one leg beneath the other. "Don't get me wrong, I loved every second of it." Her dimpled smile sends a icy dagger into my chest. "But I don't know what this means for us. You're - you're very, very married. I want you, but I want _all_ of you."

"I want all of you, too," she replies in a small voice. I know this is hard for her but there is nothing I can do to make this easier that doesn't compromise everything about me as a person. "Just give me a little time. Give me some time to talk to Peeta. Don't shut me out."

The really unfortunate part of all this? If she said give me ten years and I'll be yours, after the 3,650th day I'd be waiting at her doorstep. What a beautifully fucking tragic thing love is. "I don't want to shut you out, I just--" I pause and look down at my fidgeting hands. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," is her immediate reply. She shifts over underneath the sheets, holding them to her chest. As if this is a time for modesty after what we did just a handful of hours ago. Her hand comes up and cups my cheek. "Johanna, I am crazy about you. I want to be with someone who drives me crazy. I want to be with someone who makes me feel incredible."

As comforting as her words are, that's all they are: just words, meaningless letters floating around in my brain and attempting to calm my very active nerves. My heart is in a state of suspended animation until she can completely be mine. "I might lose you. There's always a chance." I take her hand from the blanket and press my thumb against her ring. "As long as you wear this, I can't be with you."

Katniss drops her hand from my face and lets out a sigh. We both know I'm right. As consuming as our love is, he will always be present. As long as they 'e married, we truly stand no chance. "Will you give me time? I'm not trying to string you along. I will need time to get things sorted out. Peeta and I ...we've been together forever. I can't just up and abandon him. We built a life here. You have to understand."

"I do understand," I reply. And I do. Relationships are like weaving baskets, you keep intertwining your lives in intricate knots in hopes that what you have is built to last with no breaks. And when it does break, there's the painful unraveling of every warp and weft in your romance. The sorting of things, the separation of bank accounts, the painful process of de-coupling. "You know, you warned me you get nightmares, but you didn't have them last night."

She smiles at me and despite the circumstances, my heart melts. "No?" I shake my head. "Must have been because someone spent all my energy." I stick my tongue in my cheek to prevent myself from smiling at her unexpected answer. She sees it anyway and leans forward, letting the sheet fall completely away from her chest. I can't (and I don't because _fuck it_ ) pry my eyes away from her breasts. She notices my stare and grins, capturing my lips in a soft kiss. "You know, there's a few hours left to this weekend."

I think about all the reasons we shouldn't: Peeta could come home early, I have just taken a shower, there are loud, brassy cartoons playing in the background, we aren't even a couple, and she's married. And then I think about all the reasons why we should: ...it doesn't matter because even half a reason to touch Katniss is enough.

* * *

 Cressida leisurely swings her legs and bounces her heels against my counter as she sits atop my register. As I water my plants, I water my thirsty friend with most of the juicy details about my weekend. I haven't seen Katniss since the previous Sunday, although we have been in contact via text. Some racy, teasing texts that have used up my cell phone plan along with my willpower to resist her.

From the glint in her icy blue eyes I know Cressida is bursting with things to say. Like a good friend she stays quiet through my ordeal until finally I stop over-watering my plants and look at her nervously. "On a scale of one to ten, how much of an awful person am I?"

Cressida purses her lips in the way that sucks in her cheeks. I have seen that exact expression drive other girls crazy. Right now it's only making me annoyed at her silence. "As your friend I am obligated to tell you that you are not an awful person. Look, you're all adults, yeah? If Katniss wants to be with you then she needs to put her big girl knickers on and do it. It's the 21st century, just get a bloody divorce and shack up with your lesbian lover."

"It isn't that easy, Cress," I remind her as I store the watering can into a nearby cabinet. "She's been with the same guy for years. They just got married. I can't expect her to just walk away from that."

"Yeah you can." Cressida shrugs her shoulders and pins her gaze on me. "She doesn't love him. She loves you. For whatever reason," she adds sarcastically, smirking. "All I'm saying is that she can do this, she doesn't want to. She wants to have her straight cake and eat pussy, too."

"That's not true. She asked for time, and I'm giving it to her."

"You wish you were giving it to her."

I roll my eyes. "Shut up. You know what I mean. These things take time. Besides, I want her to be really done with him. I don't want to be some stopgap before she runs back to hetero-land." I'm a little upset that Katniss hasn't even tried to get in touch with me other than by phone. Maybe she is evaluating our relationship. I mean, her texts make it seem like she's made up her mind. I can't imagine her sitting in her marital bed next to her husband, firing off a text about how she wants to fuck me.

"Listen Worm, all I want is for you to be happy. If Barbie Katniss makes you happy, then I'm all for it." She hops off the counter and places her hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I don't want to see your heart broken. I don't want her to be using you because she's unhappy in her marriage, or bored, or really bloody selfish, whatever. Just be careful, yeah?"

"I don't think Katniss is the type."

"Did you think she was the type to cheat on her husband by shagging her florist?" Cressida asks, swaying her hips as she walks to the door. "Love you!"

When I finally do see Katniss, exactly thirteen days later, it's like no time has passed. She walks into my shop, sheepishly looking around at the thankfully empty shop. Whirling on her heel, she closes and locks the front door. The sheepishness is gone when she turned around. She wastes no time in surging toward me, taking my head between her hands and kissing me as hard as she can. The force sends us both tumbling back until I hit the counter and knock over a plant. I yank off her jacket and scarf as our lips duel for the upper hand. My palms grip the thin cotton material of her shirt as I shove her through the doorway into the next room and we fall onto the small table that usually has a bunch of flower pots on it.

"I had to see you," she blurts out between kisses. "I'm sorry. I thought I could stay away. I can't."

The rational part of my brain that knows we need to have a serious talk is smothered by the feel of her lips on mine, her tongue swirling around the pulse in my neck and the feel of her hair in my fingers. Talking can wait. Her fingers are pulling down the zipper of my jeans and all thoughts that do not revolve around her fingers pulling down the zipper of my jeans are obliterated.

* * *

We continue like this for several weeks. I steal her away for a few hours or a day or so, hanging out at my apartment or going on small dates that if caught, look like two friends harmlessly going out to dinner. But the way we look at each other is not harmless. Her eyes pierce right through me every time she glances in my direction. There's decidedly no sex. I'm not sure why, but I don't pressure her. Kissing, touching, but I don't initiate anything further, and neither does she. We take long walks in the park with me snuggling into her arm, resting my head on her shoulder whilst we talk. When we speak I feel our souls touching, if that makes sense. Somewhere deep inside me I am connecting with another person and becoming whole.

I have never been so thoroughly in love in my entire life.

* * *

The cold chill of autumn dying into winter has fallen on Panem the week before Thanksgiving. Outside fat snowflakes drop from overheard whilst the sun tries in vain to break through the gray masses. I look up as the bell rings in my shop, revealing an elderly man in a heavy winter coat and a newsboy cap. I smile at him and turn my radio down. "Hi, what can I help you with?"

He smiles cordially at me and takes off his cap, shaking snow off his hat onto the mat at the front door. "I'm looking for some flowers for my wife. She's been in the hospital for a day or so now and I thought they'd brighten the room." His tired brown eyes meet mine and I tilt my head. I think the realization hits him the same time it hits me. "Oh, you're the lovely girl from the museum! You know my wife always tells people about the wonderful lesbians we met at the museum. How is your wife?"

My wife. Like a sap, tears come into my eyes but I clear my throat to try and will them away. I hate Katniss for making me lie to this man. "She's...she's fine. Busy at work. How is yours? You said she's in the hospital?"

He nods solemnly. "She caught a cold two weeks ago that she just couldn't shake. The doctors don't know what it is, but... I think the flowers will help." The forced smile on his lips almost makes the tears fall from my eyes. "Knowing they're from one half of the couple she adores will make them even better."

"Right," I agree with a curt nod, looking around the room. "Any particular flower? Any color?"

He muses on that while he walks around my tiny shop. His weathered hands feel the petals, his eyes close as inhales the scent. "She likes yellow. Something yellow that smells pretty."

That narrows my choices down to about ten different flowers. With something to focus on, I busy myself analyzing the different spectrums of yellow I have. Settling on some beautiful dahlias, I engage him in idle chat. "How long have you been married?"

"Seems about four and a half centuries," he jokes with a grin. "Fifty-three years."

"Wow, congratulations," I reply, wrapping the bouquet in a brightly colored lavender paper. I give him a genuine smile. "That's impressive."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "She just can't get rid of me," he replies. "I keep coming back like an STD." A laugh bursts out from my chest and it seems to lift his mood a little. "You know kiddo, I never got your name."

"Johanna." I hold my hand out to shake his. He takes my hand tightly, clasping the other over our hands.

"I'm Hank, my wife's name is Michelle. And yours?"

Nothing. No one. I have no wife. I have a friend I'm in love with. "Katniss."

He raises a large, bushy eyebrow at me. "Like the katniss root?" I nod. "That's a strong name, like your boys." Our boys. Apparently everything is going to make me very emotional. Our pretend twin boys, our pretend marriage, this man's sick wife. My father used to say melancholy was a practice for the weak-willed. My father also used to eat his steak so raw it was four seconds from mooing. He wasn't always right. "Well, Johanna, thank you for the flowers. What's the damage?"

"Oh no, no charge," I wave off his attempts to shove money at me and instead fill his hands with the flowers. "Just take these for your wife. Please give her our best. The um, the dahlia means commitment and a-a bond that lasts forever. And they smell pretty."

The man grins at me and then surprisingly pulls me in for a hug. "You and your wife are very lucky," he says over my shoulder, backing away and placing his cap back on his head. "You're still young. You have a lifetime of love ahead of you. Don't waste a single moment of it, all right, kiddo?"

Compressing my lips and nodding my head, I try to hold back the tears that beg to fall from my eyes. But the man doesn't look resigned as he gives his advice. He looks happy. Even in dire circumstances, love can buoy you. This man is living proof. He gives me a wave as he heads back into the snowfall, disappearing from view around the corner.

I sniffle and blot my eyes with a nearby piece of paper towel, ignoring the ringing of the bell at the door for a moment. When I turn, I'm greeted with the brooding image of Finnick. His blonde hair is perfectly coiffed as usual, but his trademark grin is not on his face. He looks like he's about to give a dirge.

"Hey Finn, what's up?" I ask, brushing my hands off on my pants. Finnick places his hands in the coat pocket of his double-breasted pea coat and looks very sternly at me. I arch my eyebrow. "That's a serious face you've got on."

"Tell me it isn't you." My mind seems to be sloughing through mud as I try to figure out what he's talking about. Tell him what isn't me? His insistent stare baffles me for a few beats before my eyes go wide. Oh. _That_. And then, my gaze moves downcast. "Oh for fuck's sake, Johanna."

"Give me a break," I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest. How dare he storm into my store and make me feel like a criminal. Plus, I can't bear the look in his eyes, as if I'm the absolute most vile person on the planet. Coming from someone who openly says he'll fuck people in committed relationships, I'm torn between believing him and wanting to slap him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "You know, he didn't -- he didn't say who it was. He said he didn't know. Found a bunch of text messages on her phone that -"

"He looked through her fucking phone?" I interrupt.

Finnick scoffs. "Yeah, act like that's the big mistrust here. No, she handed him her phone. Said she had nothing to hide. Turns out she did." He runs his fingers through his hair and levels his sea green eyes at me. "I figured it out. All that talk, all that running your mouth about not messing with other couples, that was when it doesn't apply to you, right?"

"Fuck off, Finnick."

"No!" He yells back and startles me, but my surprise quickly turns into anger. "You don't get it, Johanna. He was busted. Have you ever heard a grown man cry?" He steps closer to me, moving just a few inches away from my face. "It takes ten times as long to put yourself together as it does to fall apart, and he is broken."

"What do you want me to do? I can't take it back. I can't change how I feel about her, or how she feels about me. I can't change what we did."

He smirks. "You're right, you can't change how she feels about you. But she can." An uneasiness spreads in my stomach at his expression.

It's been a week since the last time I spoke or heard from Katniss. She said she was busy with work, something Prim affirmed one afternoon when she had stopped by. I hadn't thought anything of it. "When did he find out?"

"A week ago." The uneasiness in my stomach doubles into dread and sinks into me like a stone. Finnick can see my mind working double time and he nods. "She told him. They argued. They made up."

They made up. What does that mean? She's going to stay with him? After all her talk of how much she wants me and how she needs time, she's going to up and never see me again? I need answers and Finnick's handsome face is not going to give me the answers I need. "Get out," I scowl at him, my nostrils flaring in anger.

"Did I just ruin your perfectly good plan to ruin a perfectly good man's life?"

"Get the fuck out, Finnick," I say again, lowly. I have no time for his smug lording over me. I run my fingers through my hair and turn from him, trying my hardest to stop myself from crying. I hate crying. It never seems to solve any problems and I'm not a pretty crier.

I hear him turn the handle of my door and the stupid bell chime as he opens it. "Did you love her?"

I want to turn over every plant in the room and toss them at his head. I want to grab my axe and smash every tree in existence. My sadness and my anger are pretty much indistinguishable from one another. "I do."

Finnick clears his throat. "I'm sorry."

* * *

While in college, Cressida and I developed a ritual that when we had our hearts broken (or broke someone else's), we'd split a glass of rosé and eat something terrible. Tonight, we have gone through two bottles of wine and three baskets of chicken wings and french fries. We gorge our stomachs and feast our eyes on horrible films.

"Maybe you're better off, love," Cressida says, taking another large scoop of ice cream and shoveling it into her mouth. "You are beautiful and strong and a great catch. And if she can't see that she's a bloody fucking idiot." I know her effusive compliments are a result of the wine but it's appreciated nonetheless. Typically her approach is tough love, but when she is drunk she's overly sentimental.

"Thank you, my enabler." I lay myself across the couch, placing my head in her lap. Katniss and I haven't spoken since I saw Finnick, even though she has called me about forty times and left me a bunch of text messages. I'm not prepared to face the cold realization that she and I and whatever we have, is over. Cressida draws her fingers through my hair, bringing me back to our days on her twin bed when I moped over another brunette who broke my heart.

She laughs and switches off the DVD player, taking my hand in hers and continuing to stroke my hair. "I'm not enabling, you make it sound so harsh. I'm simply doing what all best mates do. Commiserating and offering my unconditional love. I did suggest we egg her house but you declined my offer."

A soft knock at the door interrupts our miserable bonding and we both glance toward the door with disdain. I don't like to be interrupted during my sad times. Cressida slides out from underneath my head as she heads to answer the knock. I stuff a pillow underneath my head to watch her answer the door. "Stop looking at my bum, Jo."

I scoff at her but I am, in fact, staring at her ass. Cressida being my closest friend doesn't make her any less attractive. And she knows it by the way she sways her hips exaggeratedly as she struts to the door, stumbling in her last two steps. Cressida swings the door open and her posture immediately straightens up. "Oh, darling, you are certainly not welcome here."

I snag a chicken wing from the pile and shove it in my mouth, swinging my legs off the couch. With the buffalo wing sauce dripping from my lips, I walk over to the door and freeze as I see the girl standing in the doorway. Katniss stands there, clutching her purse in her hands. "Katnif?" The wing drops to the floor.

"Can I talk to you?" she asks timidly, looking from Cressida to me. "Privately?" Cressida grunts under her breath.

I raise my eyebrow, wiping the sauce from my chin. I want to object, doing one of those "I have no secrets from her" scenes, but then I see the look in Katniss's eyes. I want to hate her but damn she can undo me with just a glance. With a sigh I nod to Cressida, who gives Katniss a long, scathing look before huffing off toward my bedroom. Once she is safely in my room I lean on the door. "What do you want?" I ask, the malice I intended in my voice instead being replaced by tiredness.

"I'm sorry Finnick bombarded you. Peeta told me what he did and it was wildly fucking inappropriate, but that is par for the course for him." I cross my arms over my chest, allowing her to mumble out her useless apology. Her eyes drop to the ground. "I wanted to talk to you first."

"Oh did you? Do me the incredible kindness of telling me that you were not going to leave your husband?" My shrill, angry voice dissipates into desperate sadness. "Break my fucking heart in person?" My words catch in my throat as I fight back tears. "How unbelievably _kind_ of you."

She wipes a stray tear that has escaped her eyes and in spite of my anger, my heart aches at how sad she is. I want so badly to hate this woman in front of me. Hate is much easier to vault than heartbreak. "Please, this isn't easy for me."

"It isn't?" I ask rhetorically, running my fingers through my hair. "It was easy when he didn't know about us. When you could just fuck me whenever you wanted and then go home to your cozy little set up and live out your cookie cutter life, that was easy."

"It's more complicated than that," Katniss objects softly, unable to meet her gray eyes with my brown ones.

I nod. "Oh I'm sure. All those promises of being with me, those were real easy to break when I was out of the picture. Does he even know you're here? Hm? Am I still your dirty little secret?" I take a step forward, coming into her space. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me. Tell me that's what you want and I'll go and you'll never see me again."

"Is that what you want?"

"I want _you_." The faraway look in her eyes is enough for me. She can't do this. We are... whatever we are, we are over. I wish for a moment that life is like the show _Once Upon A Time_ and someone can just come and rip out my heart. Rip out my heart and crush it into dust, because having no heart would be preferable than having this broken one inside my chest. "Go home, Katniss."

"I think I'm pregnant." My tear-filled eyes slowly move up her body to her face where I meet the most depressed expression I have ever seen. She sniffs and wipes her eyes again, still unable to look me in the eyes. "I took a-an at home test. I haven't gone to the doctor yet, but..."

"Please," I interrupt, holding up my hand. "Please stop," I beg quietly. Whether it's the wine or the news, my head is spinning. Katniss is pregnant. Pregnant with Peeta's baby and their marriage is now even more solidified by this progeny. "Please go," I manage to say, just above a whisper. She looks like she's going to say something more, another useless apology, but it dies in her throat. She nods and walks away, trudging down the hallway toward the elevator.

I close the door and press my back against it, sliding down on to the floor. Cressida gingerly steps out of my bedroom, her face twisting into heartbreak for me as sobs push hard out of my chest. She walks into my kitchen, grabbing two shot glasses and a small bottle of tequila from my cabinet. She sits down cross-legged in front of me and places the glasses on the ground, pouring the tequila into each one.

We both knock back the shots and I place my head against the door, looking up at the ceiling. Cressida pours the next two shots while I stare upward, feeling pity for myself and anger toward Katniss. We throw back the next two shots and I cough, my cough dissolving into a pitiful laugh as I look over at my friend. "She's fucking pregnant, Cress. And that's not --" I hiccup. "That's not the worst of it. The worst of it is... how do I teach my heart that loving her is a crime? How do I unlearn all the ways I love her?"

Cressida pushes herself up off the ground and offers me her hands. "C'mon darling, let's get you to bed." Reluctantly I take her hands, lifting myself and standing on wobbly feet. The wine and tequila have gone straight to my brain and my coordination is severely lacking. Like a tacky romance movie we go tumbling into the wall, which would be comically romantic except we are not lovers and I am miserable. My hands find the sides of her face as I examine all the pretty contours of her cheeks and lips. Those bright, teasing blue eyes go as wide as I've ever seen them. "Johanna, this is a poor idea."

"Why?" I ask, my eyes never leaving her lip that she tugs between her teeth.

"You've just had your heart broken," she explains calmly, stroking her fingers through my hair. "I am not what you want." Despite her objections I can see how aroused she is in her cloudy, drunken gaze. This isn't the first time we've been this close; we've spent most of our friendships dodging each other's advances and coming dangerously close to sleeping together.

I shrug, running my thumb over her lips and flicking my gaze from her mouth to her eyes. "Don't you love me?"

She sighs, sliding her hands down to my hips and pursing her lips. "We've been friends for a decade. You know I love you."

"And I love you. So why the fuck not?" I ask, my thumb still rubbing her bottom lip back and forth. Her lips are so soft, so inviting and I'm so drunk and so heartbroken that this all feels strangely right. "What do we have to lose?" She takes my thumb between her teeth, flicking her tongue against it and pulling a gasp from my lips.

"You won't fall in love with me while we're in there?"

I chuckle. "You'll still be an asshole in there, so no."

She takes charge and begins walking us back toward my bedroom, her ravenous intent clear in her eyes. This isn't a solution to my problem; I'm still in love with a married woman who clearly loves me too. This is a band-aid on a gaping wound. A temporary solace. A drunken mistake that we'll both probably regret in the morning, but as my back hits the mattress and her alcohol-laden lips crush mine, I don't care.

Like I said, what do I have to lose? I've already lost everything I love.


	7. The Morning After

The ceiling fan in my bedroom is a lazy bastard, sluggishly rotating, trembling, and creating a soft rattle that is soothing to me most nights. However it is doing nothing to soothe the splintering headache spreading in my brain. My eyes blink hard as I roll over and let out a groan. All that wine and tequila was a bad idea. Probably one of the worst I've ever had. Except for that time I fell for a married woman.

My eyes catch the glint of two crystal blue pills set on my bedside table with a cup of water. I palm the pills and swallow them down with the water, sighing as I place the plastic cup back on to my table. The sound of gunfire from my living room jerks me to attention. The only time I'm woken up by loud noises of fake gun battles is when Cressida sleeps over.

 _Cressida_.

_Oh god we slept together._

As I swing my legs out from underneath my blankets I realize I am still nude from the night before. Fuck. I grab the nearest clothing I can find - my bra and my pajama shorts - and venture groggily into the next room. Cressida is on the couch, legs crossed Indian-style with her headset on, controller in her hand, relentlessly pushing the buttons.

The floor creaking beneath my feet draws Cressida's attention, and she flashes me a smile before returning very seriously to her game. She doesn't look nearly as worse for the wear as I do. She's wearing one of my high school sweatshirts and a pair of my jeans. I sit on the back of the couch and fall backward so my spine hits the cushion and I watch her play upside down.

When the match is over she exits her session and places the controller on the table. She stretches her feet out to the coffee table and looks down at me with bright blue eyes. "Worm, you finally got out of bed!" I groan and rub my face, trying to will myself to remember the events of the past night. "I thought you'd died in there."

"I think I wish I had," I respond, stretching my arms above my head and touching the rug below us. I run my fingers over the braided fabric, trying to block out the pain of my hangover headache. Cressida lets out a few giggles and I glare in her direction. "How are you so fucking chipper? Did I drink alone?"

She looks down at me and threads her fingers through her hair, flipping it all to the right to expose her tattooed side. Her lips purse into a smirk. "No, I've got a larger tolerance than you. You're kind of a lightweight, love." I narrow my eyes at her and she runs her eyes down my body, biting her lips to suppress a smile. "Good thing it's winter. I may have left a bit of a mark or two on you."

My eyes widen as I turn over onto my stomach and crawl off the couch, scampering into the bathroom where my vanity mirror isn't totally helpful but does reflect light purple hickeys on my chest and the top of my stomach. A glance down at my legs shows more marks there as well. I storm back into the living room where Cressida is already in a giggling fit.

"Oh, this is funny to you? I look ridiculous! Why did you bite me everywhere?" I ask, placing my hands on my hips.

"I'm just havin' a laugh," Cressida responds in between guffaws at my expense. I keep my glare in her direction until she calms down enough to talk. "I only did what you asked, darling." My eyebrow practically leaps off my face I've raised it so high. I don't remember asking her to turn me into a chew toy. "Do you really want to go through this? I imagined we'd pretend it never happened but if you want to talk about it, I'm more than happy to tell you the things you told me to do."

With a sigh I pad toward the kitchen to make coffee. After popping the Keurig cup into the machine, I grasp the edge of the counter like it's holding me to the earth. "No, I believe you." I believe her that I wanted to be hurt. Knowing her penchant for dominant women, I believe that she readily obliged.

Sipping my coffee, I'm silently surprised at how clean everything is. No trace of our wine or food, nothing askew other than the pillows Cressida made a fort out of for her gaming. Over the top of my cup, I watch her as she turns everything off and rearranges the pillows on my couch.

I can't remember a time when I didn't rely on that blonde woman for just about everything. When we fumbled through our sexual awakenings together, breaking hearts and getting ours broken. When we celebrated the joys of her landing her gig down at the station and mine of opening my business. She understands me in a way only my mother does, but even more so because she's gay. Anyone else would've judged the hell out of me for the past few weeks. For sleeping with a married woman, for falling in love with that same woman, for taking advantage of my best friend while I was an emotional mess. But not Cressida.

"Whoa you've got major thinking face on," Cressida says as she walks toward me, taking a swig from a beer in my fridge. I grimace at her and she shrugs. "What of it? It's one in the afternoon. It's a perfectly respectable time for a pint."

"Thank you," I reply softly, looking down at my cup of coffee. She stares at me quizzically. "For everything. For being here for me. For ..last night." She grins and I feel the heat in my cheeks increase.

"What are friends for? If not for a sad, but bloody _ace_ roll in the hay when the other's feeling down?" She takes my coffee cup from me and places it on the counter top on my left. She puts her hands on my hips and curls her mouth into a smile. "Johanna. More than anything, I want you to be happy. As your friend, what we did last night, that was just us making each other happy. And it was brilliant. Which was good seeing as how I've been waiting ten years for you to finally come 'round." She kisses me on the cheek and brushes some of my hair from my face. "And now, maybe you can start moving on from Katniss."

I sigh and lean my head back against the wall. What she's saying makes sense. Sleeping with her has proved to be a good distraction from my heartbreak but that's all it is - a distraction. Inevitably that brown-haired beauty will crawl back into my brain and root there. She is inevitable, like the ocean's tide or the rise and set of the sun. I can't escape her. "I wish I could."

Cressida makes a disapproving noise with her tongue. "You can. You just won't. Look it's only been a day. Why don't we do something fun?" Her eyes light up in childish delight. "Let's go do laser tag or something." I roll my eyes at her. "Okay, what do you want to do?"

What do I want to do? Storm into the Mellark house, take Katniss by the arm, kiss the life out of her and never let her leave my side. Force her to divorce her husband, move far away, and live out our lives together.

But instead my mind goes to the elderly couple we met in the museum. His wife is in the hospital. "There's someone I need to visit in the hospital."

"I want to do something fun and you want to go visit someone in hospital? You are bleak." She turns from me and walks back toward the apartment, shrugging her shoulders and settling herself back down on my couch. "You need to get a life, darling."

* * *

Armed with a bouquet of daisies I enter the lobby of the hospital. Hospitals are always a source of anxiety for me, as it is for most people. My father died in this exact hospital not too long ago, attached to clear tubes and surrounded by family and beeping machines. You're never at the right age to lose a parent. From toddler to adult, you're never prepared to see the person who gave you life, the person who was your rock, suffering and helpless in a gown and slippers.

"Hi, how are you today?" The attractive redhead behind the desk greets me warmly, deep amber eyes gazing into my own. She almost looks like a light brown-eyed Amy Adams, complete with the Anglo-Saxon pale skin and chipper personality.

"I'm well, thanks, yourself?" I lean on the counter, allowing myself to appraise young beauty. She looks a bit younger than me, maybe 20 or 21. The girl blushes lightly under my scrutinizing gaze. She's wearing a light blue set of scrubs with tiny foxes printed on them, and a single gold necklace with a small pendant on the end in a 'V' shape.

"I'm fine, thank you," she answers, flustered. From my time in the service industry I know people can be unintentionally brusque when they need something. It's endearing that she is so taken aback by common kindness. I glance down at her nametag affixed just above her chest.

"Finch, hm?" The girl looks frazzled and then peeks at her own nametag. "That your last name?"

She nods. "Yes. That's what everyone calls me. I don't like my first name much," she babbles. "It's kind of strange. My-my first name is Verbena." My eyes widen. "Like the um, like the -"

"Like the flower," I interrupt, smiling. "Do you know what that flower is used for?"

"Oh, something boring, I'm sure."

"Is that right? Well I'd say it's far from boring. Verbena has been used in almost all recorded history. It's got supernatural elements to it." Her eyes light up as I continue to speak, setting the flowers down on the counter. Luckily there is no one behind me in line. "The ancient Romans called it Juno's tears. Faulker wrote a whole story about it. From what I'd heard, a little Verbena can be quite bewitching." With a crooked grin, I lean forward. "Now I see that's accurate." Her pretty blush spreads down her neck to the top of her chest. "Something tells me that if you didn't really like your name, you wouldn't wear that V around your neck."

She looks down at her necklace and pulls the small pendant away from her chest, fingering the small letter in her fingers. "Oh, this isn't for that. It's a five. It's my lucky number. I was born at 5:55 on the fifth day of May on Fifth Avenue. And, turns out, I'm only going to be five foot five inches. So, I figured why not commemorate it?"

"Why not indeed?" I ask, chuckling. "Well, Verbena, I am hoping you can help me. I'm looking for a patient here, her name's Michelle? I'm afraid I don't have a last name. I know her husband's name is Hank. Elderly couple, crazy sweet."

Her face turns sullen. "I'm so sorry..."

"Johanna."

"I'm so sorry Johanna, but we only give out room information to family. Even if you did have a last name I'm not sure there would be anything I could do," she apologizes nervously.

I smile and lift the bouquet off the counter. "It's okay. You're just doing your job. It was a long shot. Thanks for your time." I turn away, a smirk on my face. I know she'll want to continue talking to me. Girls are easy to peg.

"How do you know them?" she calls out to my back. I turn around, feigning surprise and take a few steps back toward the counter.

"I met them at a museum a week or so ago. The husband, Hank, came into my flower shop over on Seventh Street and bought flowers for his wife, telling me she was ill. They were extremely nice to me and my -" I catch my words. "My friend and me, so I thought I'd return the gesture with a few flowers. My father always told me to return the kindness of strangers, because you never know who's needing it."

Surprisingly I see a small tear escape the corner of her eye. I don't think I've laid it on that thick but she looks quite upset at my story. "Oh I wish I could help. Do you know when she was admitted?"

"No idea. Not that long ago. Within the last few days." Verbena's fingers fly across her keyboard and her amber eyes scrutinize the monitor in front of her. After more typing, and a few clicks of her mouse, she brightens considerably. "I think I might have found them." Her voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper and her eyes dart around. "Third floor, room 307. Should be on the right as you get off the elevator. But please don't tell anyone I told you."

The girl quickly scribbles out a sticker pass for me and hands it to me like we're making an alleyway drug deal. "Your secret's safe with me. Thank you so much for your help." I draw a daisy out of the bouquet and hand it to her. "It's not quite verbena, but it'll have to do." I flash her a smile as she blushes harder than I have seen anyone blush in my life and I jog toward the elevators.

Dodging slowly-rolling gurneys, I can hear the loud blare of Wheel of Fortune playing from inside Room 307 when I knock. There is the shuffle of feet against linoleum and the door opens wider to reveal Hank, whose face breaks into a smile. "Johanna!" He claps my back in a hard hug, pulling me into the room. Michelle is laying on the bed, sitting up and eagerly eating what I hope is cherry jello. Something ruby and gelatinous. "Michelle, look! It's Johanna, the woman we met at the museum. Her wife was the one who knew about the paintings."

The woman's eyes scrutinize me, and after a bit, she places my face. "Oh, Johanna. How wonderful to see you. Are those flowers for me?" Her face looks tired, but luckily not all that sick. It makes me feel immeasurably better to see her looking almost well.

"No woman, they're for me," Hank interrupts with a wink. He takes the flowers from my hand and goes toward the vase on the table that holds the other flowers I'd helped pick for her. "Our daughter was just here, it's a shame you missed her. You remind us of her."

I sit down in the chair beside the bed, trying to hide my nervousness. "How are you feeling?" I ask the woman, placing my hands in my lap.

She shrugs. "As well as can be expected. Damn doctors are treating me like I have consumption." She levels her gaze at me. "I have a cough. Because I'm over sixty, evidently I'm dying."

I let out a chuckle and shake my head. This woman's personality reminds me a lot of my mother. Hard-headed, straight-forward. "That's great to hear."

"How's your wife?" she asks, with a genuine smile that drains the one off my face. I can't possibly keep up this charade. I hadn't wanted to do it in the first place. Katniss has that effect on me. She can make me do almost anything with just a quirk of her lips.

"Katniss is fine," I respond slowly. The woman places her gelatinous goo container on her tray that is suspended in front of her and gives me the same expectant look my mother had perfected when I was growing up and she knew I was telling a half-truth. "Katniss isn't my wife." The woman's pale eyes go wide and she looks to her husband, who shrugs. "We... it's complicated."

The woman smiles and reaches out, taking one of my hands in hers. "I've got a lot of time. Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

I sigh hard, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Katniss is married. To someone else. I met her at their wedding, actually." I glance at her husband. "I'm a florist, as you know, and I did the arrangement for her wedding." I clear my throat, allowing time for the information to sink in. "We're friends, her and I, or at least we were. Something... happened, and then we were much more than that. Then something else happened, and now we're nothing at all."

"I have a hard time believing that," Michelle interjects with a knowing nod. "You looked so in love."

"We were. I mean, I was." My eyes drop to the floor. "I am. I didn't want to lie to you, but I have a hard time disagreeing with her."

Hank chuckles from across the room, sitting on the edge of his wife's bed. "Well we should have known right then you weren't married. Disagreeing is half of what we do."

Michelle shoots him a glare. "Continue, please, Johanna. I know you're being delicate, but you can be honest."

"You don't even know me," I protest. "I shouldn't burden you guys with my personal drama. I'm sorry, I just wanted to see how you were."

 

"Does she love you?" Michelle asks after a long period of silence. I wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my shirt and shrug.

"I don't know. No." I purse my lips and look back up at her. The way Katniss looks in my eyes, the way she kisses me, the way she holds on to me like she never wants to let me go. She does love me. "Yes. But it doesn't matter."

"Oh, sweetheart, that's all that matters."

I sniffle, gratefully taking the proffered tissue from Hank. I'm sure these tissues are supposed to be used by grieving families, not stupid homewreckers crying with essential strangers about her lesbian love life. "She can't. She's with someone else."

Michelle pats my hand, soothingly rubbing it with her own. "When I met Hank I was engaged to another man. A nice man. Stable, good family, loved me to pieces. And I did love him." She pauses and looks at her husband. "But the second I saw Hank, I knew. I knew immediately that I was in love with another man. Or at the very least in lust with another man. And if you're with someone and you fall in love with the second person, you must choose that second person. Because I have never met anyone after Hank that I felt even a tiny sliver of what I feel for him."

"So I been where you are, Johanna. I never..." Hank coughs. "I was a gentleman with Michelle, until we were married. Not that I'm judging you. I know it's the 21st century. But I also know the pain of loving someone who loves someone else. But you and me, Johanna, we're the lucky ones. We are loved back."

"And what about your other fiance? What happened to him?" I ask, gazing back to Michelle.

"It broke his heart, for sure. But, it mends again. We don't really keep in touch, but we do send Christmas cards. He got married, had kids, started his own business. Does he think about me? Probably. I do think about him from time to time. But I have never once regretted causing the short term pain of heartache for the long-term love he and I both found with someone else."

"Thank you," I reply, smiling sadly. Standing from my chair, I nod my head toward Hank. "Thank you for letting me see you." From within my wallet I plunk my business card down on her bedside table. "Please, stay in touch."

"I'd like that," Michelle says as Hank walks me out the door.

"Let me know how it goes," Hank says, giving me a pat on the back. "Keep your chin up, kid. What's meant to happen always does."

Biting my lip I bid him adieu and amble back to the elevators. As I wait for the ponderous lift, I think back on their advice. It's easy for them, they know what happens. Michelle wasn't pregnant, wasn't married. All she did was break one man's heart. I would be destroying a family. Once I'm back in the lobby, I wave goodbye to the cute girl behind the counter, who in turn knocks over a corral of pencils on her desk in a frenzied attempt to wave back. Shaking my head, I go through the revolving doors into the winter sun, breathing in a deep sigh. I want to believe what Michelle said was right. If Katniss is in love with me, maybe she will come around.

But how long am I supposed to wait? Until their kid is eighteen and Katniss feels comfortable enough to break up their family?

Spinning on my heel, I'm about to storm back into the hospital when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Katniss's name pops up on my screen. Looking at the red-haired girl through the revolving doors, I take the call and put the phone to my ear. "Johanna, please. Can we talk? I really need to talk to you. I went to your apartment but Cressida was there. She said you'd left for the day." I hear her suck in a breath. "Did she stay over your apartment last night?"

"Yes."

Her voice breaks. "Did you sleep together?" The pain in her tone cripples me.

"Yes."

"I thought you were just friends."

"We are just friends. Is this why you called? To ask me about Cressida?"

"No." There's a long silence, punctuated with a sniffle. "It's so good to hear your voice. I miss you."

"Katniss, please." Toeing the ground with my shoe, I shake my head. "There's nothing to say."

"I need to talk to you."

"Why?"

"Everything's changed." Her strained voice tugs on my heartstrings.

"Has it? Are you still pregnant? Still married?" The short silence is all I need. I grit my teeth. "You can't do it. It's fine. Goodbye, Katniss." I end the call and hold down the power button to turn my phone completely off. I walk back into the hospital and wait impatiently as a middle-aged woman asks the girl a bunch of needless questions.

Once she is gone I stand in her place and Verbena looks up at me, surprised. "Johanna. Did you find the room? I assume you did since I saw you leave a second ago."

"Do you want to go out sometime?" I interrupt, leaning over the counter.

Her cheeks turn as fire engine red as her hair and she looks around at the other women sitting behind the counter, who all wear different expressions of gossipy interest and anticipation. "Um...yes. I mean, if you'd want to, I would. That would be - I could do that. Yes. Please."

I smile. I grab a piece of paper near me and reach over the counter to steal one of her pens. I quickly scribble down my phone number and hand the slip of paper to her. "Whenever you want, call me." She grins down at the piece of paper and bobs her head excitedly.

This is how I am going to get over Katniss. Slowly, one girl at a time. Surely at least two or three girls can fill the void one left in my heart. Right?


	8. The Speech

"Johanna -- I have to -- mmph -- get to class. You can't just -- oh, ohmygod."

I sink my face into her red locks that are splayed out on my pillow, inhaling the sweaty scent of her hair and neck as I thrust inside her. The heels of her feet dig into my back, encouraging me further despite her verbal objections. One of the things I've learned about Verbena, or V as I have begun calling her over the last three months, is that she is as sly as the little foxes she wears on her scrubs. Pure as the freshly driven snow, but sexually she is insatiable and dirty. We don't see each other much between us both working and her taking college classes, and when we do see each other, it is almost always purely sexual. Late night visits in her dorm, fucking her in the library at her college, pinning her to the door when she comes into my apartment in her scrubs. I love those scrubs; easy access to all the good parts. It is a beautiful whirlwind distraction to keep me from thinking of a certain brunette. A brunette who has called me just about every day, though I never answer.

Verbena enjoys getting me all worked up and then scurrying away because she'll be "late for class," all deceptive smiles and promises to see me later. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn't. This time, I'm prepared. She bustled in my apartment, shaking snow from her scarlet locks and stomping her boots on the mat near the door. She gave me the same speech: _Oh don't have much time, only a few minutes in between classes, just wanted to see you._ But that didn't work. Instead I tore her clothes off, barely giving her time to breathe before I had her back against my mattress.

She keeps trying to protest but it's weak. It's half-hearted. She wants me just as much as I want her. Probably more. The moment the tip of the strap-on came in contact with her entrance she was clawing and scratching me to be inside her. The alarm that tells her she will be late for class went off a few minutes ago, which was why she's struck up her protest again, but I am not stopping. Sweat is beading on my forehead as I hold her hands pinned against the mattress and continue to fuck her. If she really wanted me to stop, she knows the safe word. These protestations? These are part of the game for her.

Expletives fall from her mouth in a constant stream, turning me on more because she so rarely uses them. Her hands break free from my grasp and she tangles them in my hair, forcing my cheek and ear near her mouth so I can her hear groans. _Fuck_ and _yes_ and _Johanna_ spill from her lips until she shakes really hard against me, her hands traveling down to my back to hold me still within her as she rides out her orgasm. Instead of stopping I start up again harder, close to my own orgasm. Her eyes fly open, but she reads the look on my face and nods her consent. My hips pump as fast and hard as they can, and I use one hand to stimulate her clit. If I'm gonna come, she's coming with me. Pounding down inside her, my climax swells in my stomach and ripples through my body in short waves.

I slowly move inside her a few more times, drawing out a couple more high-pitched moans and sighs before I withdraw completely, letting the flesh-covered instrument flail about as I flop on to my back. Our chests heave in double exhaustion as I lay next to her. She rolls over and tosses her arm over my stomach, mumbling into the pillow, "That was fantastic. Much better than going to class."

I smirk in her direction, placing a kiss on her salty forehead then returning my stare to the ceiling. The sex is always fun. It's just about the only thing we're good at. We have different life goals, different perspectives, grew up in vastly different households. We have nothing in common other than a shared love of certain literature and being really, ridiculously good at sex. Our first date we didn't even get to our entrees before I took her into the bathroom, wrapped her legs around my waist and fucked her until she couldn't stop trembling.

She rolls off the bed and stumbles into my bathroom, turning on the shower. I hear the curtain whip back and I let out a sigh, picking up my phone from the table beside me.

One missed call. Katniss.

Two text messages. Katniss.

I've been ignoring her for the last three months. I started shopping in a different grocery store, avoiding her side of town all together. The only bit of her I see is in Prim, who continues to visit me at my shop and stop by my apartment. She's grown fond of the analog cameras so I gave her one of mine and she comes over after school to learn to develop the film. We don't speak about Katniss or Peeta or their baby. We talk about her school and her boyfriend, or I teach her a new photography technique. As much as I enjoy spending time with Prim, mostly it's just a roundabout way for me to selfishly stay in Katniss's life without actually having to see her.

Cressida is glad to see me dating again, even though really it's just a casual booty call situation that sometimes turns into sleepovers and breakfast. Cressida is often the person I call when I feel compelled to go to the Mellark residence and take what I feel is mine. She always talks me down. Our friendship has gone somewhat back to normal since our drunk sex adventure. We've had only one relapse, a very inebriated night when she, Verbena and I got stoned and slept together in Cressida's loft. I'm glad I wasn't too drunk to forget that. Cressida was even better than I remembered from our drunken escapade, and it knocked an activity off my bucket list. After that, we went seamlessly back into being friends.

A knock at my door luckily breaks me from spiraling back into a Katniss void that I slide into a lot. My fake penis flops about as I stand up and I shove it off of me, kicking it near my bed. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and toss a tank top over my bare breasts. Whoever is knocking on my door at half to nine at night is surely someone who won't mind if I don't wear a bra. It's probably Cressida anyway. I look in the peephole of the door and narrow my eyes in confusion. I swing open the door and run my fingers through my hair. "Prim?"

The little blonde stands in the hallway, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Pale blue eyes dart nervously to the ground. "Hi, Johanna."

"What are you doing here?" I again run my fingers through my hair. Do I have sex hair? Will she know what that is? Definitely not. I look down the hallway for the sight of anyone who might have brought her here (and recognize sex hair), but there is no one in sight.

She shifts the weight of her backpack on her shoulders and her eyes move around sheepishly. "I ran away."

I get down on one knee and take her hand. "Why did you run away?"

"Because I didn't wanna be home. Everything's weird there now. My mom is acting weird and Katniss is sad all the time. She just sits in her room and cries and I can't make her happy. My mom gets mad at her and they argue a lot." Her word vomit spews forth full force and her bottom lip quivers. It doesn't surprise me that she came to my apartment. I think she enjoys the attention I gave her, attention she doesn't get at home with a mess of a sister like Katniss.

Then something she said catches my attention. "Wait, Katniss is at your house?"

Prim nods, rubbing her running nose with the back of her hand. "Yeah she's been there like two months. Spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with us, which was cool, but then she just didn't leave. She's just sad everywhere. I wouldda told you but when I say stuff about Katniss it makes you sad. Can I come in?"

I look back at the door, which suddenly opens to reveal Verbena in the threshold, wearing my robe cinched tightly around her waist. "Is everything okay?" Her eyes fall on Primrose, who is still standing awkwardly in the doorway. In a stunning ability to look unfazed, she bends down next to me and smiles at Prim. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Primrose."

Verbena grins. "What a coincidence. I'm named for a flower, too. My name's Verbena. but you can call me Finch. That's my last name." She shakes the young girl's hand and I slowly rise back on to my feet. "Are you a friend of Johanna's?" Prim nods in silence. "Me too." I flash the girl a grateful smile and she nods to me. Nothing rattles this girl.

She lets Prim in and follows us inside. Prim plops down on my couch, tossing her bookbag on the floor. Verbena settles in next to her, curling her feet underneath her butt. "So Primrose, what grade are you in?"

While V has Prim distracted, I walk back into my bedroom and toss my sex toy that I am suddenly embarrassed of into my closet, grabbing my phone from the table. I inhale a deep breath before finding Katniss in my contacts and pressing her number. It barely rings before her voice comes through. "Johanna?"

"Hey."

"Johanna, I can't believe you called me. I've been calling you for weeks."

"This isn't -- your sister is here. At my apartment."

"What?" There is a shuffle and a pause on the line. "It's like nine at night." I hear a door close and the sound of muffled footsteps. There's the creaking of another door, then a sigh of exasperation. "How did she get there?"

I shrug. "I don't know. But she's here now and pretty upset. I'm going to let her sleep here, if that's okay."

"Oh, um, sure. I'll have my mom come and get her in the morning."

There's something left unsaid. I can feel it. "Okay. Well, good night."

"Johanna?"

"Yes?"

"I miss you." I can hear the lump in her throat over the phone.

I sigh and sit down on the edge of my bed. "I know. I'm -" I'm what? I'm sorry we haven't spoken? I have no reason to be sorry, I remind myself. I'm not the one who led her on and then got back together with my husband. I'm not the one playing house when my heart belongs somewhere else. I hear Verbena and Prim giggling in the other room and I look down at the carpet. Maybe I am leading someone on. "I miss you, too."

"Really?" Ugh. Can she not tug at my heartstrings? Her voice sounds so hopeful that it makes my heart ache hard. "A lot has happened. I'd really like to see you."

I flop backward on my bed, holding the phone to my ear. I place my other hand on my forehead. Am I really this stupid? Can I fall this quickly back into her like a bad habit? "I don't know if I can. I've worked every day to forget you."

"But you can't," Katniss supplies. "I can't forget you either. I don't want to. And I don't want you to forget me." When did I become such a loser? Here I am, seeing this gorgeous, young, sexy girl who adores me and I can't get my mind off of Katniss. Married, pregnant, sad Katniss.

"This can't keep happening," I reply sadly. "I can't keep doing this to myself."

"Just -" A voice cuts her off and Katniss calmly explains to Mrs. Everdeen that Prim went to my apartment for the night. She seems to understand, oddly enough. I guess maybe they'd had a fight and she knew Prim needed to escape. "Look, I'll see you tomorrow. And we'll have a talk."

I want to say no. I feel "no" inside my body bubbling up from my chest. All signs point to no. "Okay." _Damnit_.

"Hey kid," I greeted as I return to my living room where V and Prim are setting up the game of Clue. Cressida enjoys board games as much as video games so there is a pile of them near my television that are seldom used. Prim looks up from the board and smiles. "Your sister said it was okay that you stayed over. They'll come and get you in the morning."

"Okay," she replies happily. "Finch and I are gonna play Clue. You wanna play?"

I sit cross-legged on the floor, facing the couch where they have set up the board between them. V hands us the notepads and tiny pencils and I roll my eyes. "Fine. But I call Miss Scarlet."

V frowns sourly and nudges me. "Um, I think I rightly deserve to use the red piece for Miss Scarlet. I mean, look at my hair." She pulls away some of her locks and I shrug disinterestedly.

"She's right," Prim says, handing her the red playing piece. "She looks like Ariel from The Little Mermaid. Ariel's my favorite," Prim informs confidentially across the board. V smiles sweetly.

I roll my eyes. "Ugh, fine. I'll be Peacock."

* * *

Having been up since five am for work, V retires to my room after we end our game. I stay up with Prim, letting her choose some awful cartoon to watch late into the night. "She asks about you a lot," Prim says suddenly, her eyes droopy from sleepiness.

I raise my eyebrow. "Who does?"

"Katniss," she replies, like I'm the dumbest person in the world. "Every time I see you she asks how you are." I don't know what to say in response so I pick at the fibers of my couch. Unfortunately, Prim is extremely observant. "I think she loves you. I think when you love someone you wanna know how they are all the time." She leans back into the couch and lets out a loud yawn. "But you don't ask about her."

I wince. "Sometimes things are too painful to know about."

Prim shrugs. "I guess. I took a test the other day in math and I really didn't wanna know my grade. I thought I failed. So I made the teacher give me mine last. Turns out I did the best out of everybody. I guess sometimes things we think are gonna be really bad end up turning out really good. You've just gotta have hope."

I smile, rubbing Prim's calf affectionately. "When did you get so smart?"

She lets out another yawn and closes her eyes, snuggling into the couch. "When I got an A on my math test."

* * *

The next morning I wake up with a cramp in my neck from having slept on the couch. V is already awake, happily making coffee with Prim, fully dressed, like the chirpy little bird she is. Mondays she has an early class so I assume it's around seven or eight in the morning. Truly too early to be so happy. Groggily I get to my feet and shuffle to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth, applying a minimal amount of make-up. I change quickly into jeans and an old concert t-shirt, emerging just as Verbena is getting ready to leave.

"I've got to get to class. Prim said she'd help you make breakfast if you want." The redhead smiles at me and I roll my eyes, leaning over the counter to give her a quick kiss.

"Don't be late for class, young lady." Verbena rolls her eyes back at me and walks to the door, swinging it open to reveal Katniss standing there, fist poised to knock.

"Oh, hi," she greets, smiling at Katniss. The smile is not returned. "You must be Prim's sister." Katniss nods dumbly. Verbena smiles her quick, easy smile that I have seen her give to plenty of distraught people at the hospital. "Your sister's ruthless. _Killed_ us at Clue."

Katniss finds her smile. I wonder if everyone else feels all the light coming into the room or if it's just me. "I think she cheats," she confides jokingly to Verbena.

"Do not!" Prim protests from the stool next to the kitchen island.

"Sorry, I have to get to class. It was nice meeting you." The two women shake hands and I stand there awkwardly next to Prim, who is giving me the smuggest smile I have ever seen. Does she know? She is very bright. Too bright. Verbena waves to Prim and me, before half-jogging down the hallway toward the stairs, disappearing from view.

Katniss enters the apartment, her stare unwavering toward me. "Hey."

"Hi." In spite of, well, everything ever, a wide smile forms on my lips. She looks beautiful, as always. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail with a few melting drops of snow on it, a thick gray scarf around her neck. A chic burgundy winter peacoat is wrapped around her with a pair of dark wash jeans tucked into knee-high boots.

"You, missy," Katniss begins as she fixes her gaze on Prim, "are in a lot of trouble. Mom's waiting downstairs for you in the car."

"But Kaaatniss," Prim whines, sliding off the stool. "Johanna and I were gonna make breakfast."

"Maybe some other time, Prim. Downstairs. _Now_." The blonde pouts profusely as she grabs her backpack, trudging toward the door and waving goodbye to me. She closes the door behind her and I take a mug of coffee from underneath the machine and sip it. Katniss stares down at her feet, her purse in her hands. "It's really good to see you. You look great."

In truth I'm sure I look no different than what I usually look like. "I look like a hot mess." Katniss shrugs off her coat and I take it from her, folding it over one of the island stools. I can see now her white sweater that hugged her body and the slightly protruding roundness of her belly. For someone three months pregnant she isn't really showing. And yet, she is beautiful. How does someone make pregnancy look so attractive? "You, on the other hand, look downright stunning."

"Oh please," Katniss retorts, untying her scarf and placing it on top of her jacket. "I look like a fashion-forward manatee." Despite her negativity, she blushes. That expression that a pregnant woman glows? She's glowing. I'm not sure how she does it, but she is.

"No," I say, unable to take my eyes off hers. I want to kiss her so badly. If I do, will it ruin everything? Will I just be diving back into a mess I'm not prepared for? Does it matter? God, her lips. There is a faint smear of lip gloss on them and I want to taste it. I want to taste all of her.

"Was um," she trails off, looking down at the floor. "Was that your girlfriend?"

I grin and chuckle, taking another sip of my coffee. "Subtle." I raise my eyebrow. "What did you want to talk about? I'm sure it was not about whether or not I'm dating the girl you saw."

"It's a little bit about that," Katniss remarks defensively. Her arms cross over her chest and I put my coffee down on the countertop. There is an anxiousness in the room that I'm not sure is coming from me or coming from her. It settles in between us and it feels like two cars waiting at a red light in a drag race. "This is the part where I ask to be friends," Katniss announces.

"You what?" I ask, pulled out of my confusing train of thought.

Katniss steps forward, her gray eyes pinned on our feet. "This is the part where I ask to be friends. And you accept, because you're kind and forgiving even though you like to pretend you're not." I place my hands on my hips and glare at her. She smiles as her eyes travel up my body and rest on my face. "This is the part where we go get coffee and get caught up on the last three months. Coffee turns into dinner, which turns into an agonizing platonic friendship. We slip into this friendship that satisfies part of us, but not all of us. Because we're afraid. We're afraid to jump because we've both been hurt and it's scary.

"We talk. I suffer through you talking about that _girl_ I saw walk out of here. I think I deserve it because of what I put you through with Peeta, so I don't say anything. I tell you that Peeta and I are getting a divorce, and I hope so badly to see relief in your eyes. Some indication that you want me too. I listen to you because I want you to be happy, but every day I hope that you don't fall in love with her. Every day I hope selfishly that you're still in love with me."

Her voice breaks. Her voice, and my heart. "Then it's the part where I regret ever saying I wanted to be friends. Then it's the part where I go home every day empty because you were right. You were right the night you came to dinner." Her tiny, rounded belly touches my stomach as she places her hands on my arms. "In that first moment, you know. You know immediately that you were incomplete, and with that person, you're whole. I knew the second you walked into my room with those flowers in your hand, I wanted to be yours.

"This is supposed to be the beginning of all that. And I know I deserve that pain for what I did to you. But can we please skip it?" Her gray eyes are glassy and her bottom lip quivers as she puts both her hands around the sides of my neck. "Can we skip all of that and just be together? I don't want to be friends. I don't want to hear you talk about another girl, ever." She leans down, pressing her forehead against mine, her lips breezing across my own. "I don't want anyone else's hands touching you, or anyone's fingers laced with yours. I don't want any lips but mine against your skin."

I don't say anything. I feel her tears hit my cheeks and roll down my face. I've missed her smell. I inhale deeply to burn this moment into my brain, sear it into my memories with scent. The moment I knew I'll never love another person as long as I live.

"This isn't going to be easy," I whisper, pulling my face back to look into her eyes. I use the pads of my thumbs to wipe away the tears running down her face, tracing her jaw as I search her for a reaction.

I have never seen her eyes so intense. "I don't want easy. I want _you_."

_Well, I'm done for._

Our lips smash together in a fervent, breathtaking kiss that feels a million years overdue. It's like coming home from a ten-year sea voyage. I missed the taste of her lips and the feel of her tongue against mine. I missed the way her breath hitches in her throat as my lips find their way to her pulse and kiss it softly. We tumble into my bedroom, a flurry of clothes coming off and teeth and lips scraping against skin. Every kiss is long and languid, putting forth every ounce of emotion I can muster from everywhere in my body. It feels like I have been frozen for months and am finally thawing from the heat of her skin. I straddle her hips, gazing down on her flushed, panting, naked form with what is probably the world's hugest smile on my face.

"You are fucking beautiful." I leave her no room to protest as I lean down and took her lips in another kiss, moving my hands up the sides of her stomach toward her breasts. My mouth leaves a glistening trail from her lips, down her neck to her breast as I swirl my tongue around her nipple, giving it a gentle suck and grinning as she bucks her hips against me.

My fingers of my free hand move up to her mouth and she takes them in and laps around my fingertips, causing my eyes to roll back into my head. The wet tops of my fingers roll against the breast I was neglecting with my mouth and she lets out a loud groan that reverberates through my body. She allows me to continue licking along her breast and collarbone until she grabs a fistful of my hair and brings our mouths together. We break apart and she gasps. "No more teasing. I can't..."

"You can't what?" I ask playfully, smiling against her cheek as she grunts in frustration.

She wraps her fingers around my jaw and moves my face so we are gazing directly at each other. "Johanna Mason. I am three months pregnant. I am very horny so if you don't make me come soon I'm going to be very angry."

I laugh and roam my hands down her body, slowly sliding my fingers inside her wonderfully warm, dripping wet center. Her hands grip my shoulders, fingernails digging into the skin of my shoulder blades. I can't help the delirious smile on my face as I watch her eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, her teeth gripping her lower lip to keep from crying out.

I keep a featherlight pressure on her clit, feeling how very close to orgasm she already is. I slow down considerably, wanting to prolong this feeling for as long as possible. My lips place gentle kisses along her throat and near her ear, murmuring "I love you" against her skin over and over again. My teeth grasp her earlobe as I curl my fingers inside of her.

I'm not sure how long she's going to last until she pushes her fingers inside me. And then I don't know how long I'm going to last. I swear into her ear and she bucks her hips hard against my hand. "You feel amazing. You're really fucking close, aren't you?" She whimpers and nods her head as I whisper into her ear. "Is this what you wanted, baby? Me inside you?"

"Goddamnit, Johanna. Yes." She slides her hand around my neck and grips her fingers against my skin, moving faster and harder inside me.

My legs begin to tremble as I feel the oncoming climax building inside my body. I'm running out of strength to support myself. "Did you think about this when you were alone? Your own fingers rubbing your pussy, wishing it were my hands pushing you to the edge? Did you wish it was my tongue against your clit, sucking and stroking you until you nearly burst?" Her thigh clenches against me and she mumbles a barely coherent affirmation. "I bet you were so wet, aching for me to touch you, gagging for release." I don't know how neither one of us had climaxed yet, but she is so close, her legs trembling and her center so saturated there is barely any friction as I push inside her. "I missed the way you feel wrapped around me." She thrusts roughly into me and I gasp into her ear. "And inside me. God, I missed the way you taste. I can't wait to fuck you with my tongue again."

I feel her body go rigid beneath me, her walls closing in around my fingers in rapid succession as she cries out. Watching her, open-mouthed gasping for air, hips sputtering against my hand, it's enough to send me over the edge just a few moments later, collapsing next to her with my hand still hovering over her folds, gently pushing against the wetness that has spilled out.

We lay there in the quiet for a while, my head on her chest listening to the rapid thumping of her heartbeat ebb into a steady rhythm. The scent of her perfume and the salty smell of her natural pheromones filling my nostrils and making my head swim. I can barely comprehend that this is real. This isn't some dream I'll wake from, sexually frustrated and depressed. The woman I adore is in my bed, her hand that is sticky with my arousal sliding against my back as we lay together.

It doesn't matter what we are going to do from this moment forward, because I am never going to let her go again. I look up at her and smile. "You know, I sort of think this was all Prim's idea." Katniss's gray eyes widen and I roll my eyes. "Not _this_ this. But getting us back together." She hums her agreement and I purse my lips. "She said you asked about me a lot."

Katniss rubs her nose on the top of my head. "I did. I asked about you every time she saw you. How you looked, what you wore, if you looked happy. I'm sure she was just tired of hearing me ask so she figured she'd help."

"She said she thought you loved me."

Katniss smiles, placing a kiss on my forehead, then the tip of my nose, then my lips. "She is exceptionally smart." She continues to lace wet kisses along my neck and behind my ear, making my entire body shudder and a new wave of arousal settle in my stomach.

"Well I guess one of you has to be." She bites down on the side of my neck, pulling a gasp from my throat. She whispers something like "bitch" into my ear and I grin. "True, but you love me."

"I do."


	9. The Baby

My hands hold firm to Katniss's shoulders as I walk her forward and down the hallway. Katniss explained several times on the drive that she "hates surprises" and "thinks this is a bad idea" but as usual, I ignored her. In truth, I drove her in circles because the surprise is actually inside my apartment, where we began our journey. I open the door and lead her inside, her hands out in front of her like a kid trying to play pin the tail on the donkey.

She's seven months pregnant now, her belly much larger and rounder than before. Walking takes an extra bit of effort, though she still looks flawless with every step, even with the slight waddle. She whirls around, her blindfolded face looking at me. "We're in your apartment," she states flatly.

"How did you know that?" I ask, turning her back around.

"It smells like you," she responds, a smile in her voice. "And a little like me, which is nice." I walk her to the spare bedroom and open the door, ushering her inside. She finally seems confused as she reaches out to grab something that does not exist. I flick on the light. "Wait, we are in your apartment, right?"

"Yup." I walk around in front of her, standing by the farthest wall. "Are you ready?"

"Why did we leave the apartment just to come back?"

I stomp my foot. "Don't ruin the surprise, spoil sport! Are you ready?"

She smiles. "Yes, dear."

"Okay, you can take off the blindfold." I watch her eyes as she takes in the room that was previously my dark room. Gone are the giant sinks and tubs of chemicals, the string of red lights and the makeshift revolving door. Instead it's a pale green room with a mahogany crib in the corner, next to a matching rocking chair and changing table. The floor's old cement is now a plush mushroom brown carpet.

Quickly I snap a photo of her immediate reaction.

It has been extremely difficult to get the work on the nursery done without Katniss noticing. She has all but moved into my apartment since we reconciled, but because of the chemicals I hadn't allowed her in the second bedroom. The building was done during the day while she was at work, as well as the moving in of the baby furniture. Cressida even took a week off to help me get some of it done. She painted vines similar to the ones tattooed on her head along the walls, making his room look a little like a jungle. It's forest green, Katniss's favorite color, with a few splashes of red (my favorite color), with a subdued sunset orange in between the trees, Peeta's favorite color. Along another wall, Cressida painted flowers, especially lilies, to line the wall and break up the green monotony. Besides, flowers are kind of my thing. If the kid is going to be around me, he'll have to learn the difference between rue and evening primrose eventually.

Her eyes fill with tears as she walks around the room. She touches the small dresser in another corner, the tiny basketball hoop over the closet, the small bookshelf next to the rocking chair; I built nearly everything myself except for the crib, which my father had built for me. "Now I'm not pressing any gender norms on him," I say, coming up behind her, "but I always wanted a basketball hoop on my door as a kid. I figured he would, too." I wrap my arms around her, kissing the side of her neck. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," she replies breathlessly, holding my arms around her. "When did you even do all of this?"

I shrug and continue to kiss her neck, pausing only to inhale the scent of her perfume. "Here and there over the last few months. I figure with the baby coming I can't exactly keep a dark room full of toxic chemicals."

She whips around, throwing her arms around my neck. "Where will you develop your photos?" There's a genuine worry in her eyes that makes me smile. Selfless.

"Who cares?" I kiss the tip of her nose. I bend down, coming nose-to-belly-button with the womb housing our boy and hold it between my hands. "All that matters is that this little guy has a place when he finally decides to get the hell out of there."

Katniss groans. "I know, right? He's like a squatter." She affectionately rubs her stomach over her tank top. She moves away from me, running her fingers along the sides of the crib. "I can't believe you did all this. Thank you. It wasn't necessary. We could have, you know, bought furniture."

I snort. "Please. My father built that crib for me so I knew it was safe. I don't trust any of that plastic garbage they sell at Babies-R-Us. You know what's sturdy? Wood. Trees. This is the safest damn nursery in the country."

Katniss scrunches her nose. "All right, Ron Swanson."

"And don't thank me. It's all just a ploy to make sure you stay put after he's born. I don't want you running off to your mother's. I want you, and him, here with me."

Katniss tosses her arms around my neck again, pulling me in for a deep kiss. Her eyes search mine happily. "I can assure you there is no place he or I would rather be."

I smile widely. Never in my imagination - okay, well, that's not exactly true. I've imagined Katniss and me as a family. I've had many daydreams about us raising kids, living together as a couple, getting into fights with amazing make-up sex, unable to decide where to go to dinner, all that good stuff. Everything that other people might think was the boring minutia of a relationship, but I'll adore every moment of it. With the other girls I've slept with I never envisioned a future beyond the morning cup of coffee. But with Katniss, from the second I saw her in that dress it was like seeing my entire future flash before my eyes - dating, marriage, kids, getting old - my entire life in a moment.

And now here we are. The situation is not ideal, of course, with her carrying her ex-husband's baby and us living in my tiny apartment in the city, but we make do. We could be living under a bridge with forty of Peeta's kids and I'll be happy as long as she is there. That's the sick kind of in love I am with her.

She plops down in the rocking chair, moving it back and forth as she glances around the room. My grin widens as I look at her shirt - one of the tank tops I bought her with an angry purple dinosaur on it that reads "Pregosaurus Rex." Initially she was offended, but with her mood swings and morning irritability, the nickname is accurate. She oscillates between anger and lust most of the time, either demanding to be left alone to eat ice cream and cry, or demanding my attention sexually. Either way I oblige her, though I much favor the latter.

"I don't wanna go to Finnick's party," she whines, pouting at me. "I wanna stay here and look at all the cuteness."

Finnick's dalliance with the redhead at Katniss's wedding has evidently turned into a baby. Neither I nor Katniss have met the woman yet, since we are on the periphery of Finnick's friendship after she left Peeta, but he's invited us to the shindig welcoming baby Finnick into the world. I glance at the clock - a little green one with a flower in it - and frown.

"I'm sorry baby girl," I reply, crossing over to her and holding my arms out. I pull her up and into a hug, stroking her back. "We'll make it quick. Drop off the present, say our hellos and congratulations, everyone will want to rub your belly and I'll punch anyone that gets too close, we'll leave."

Katniss giggles. "Prim will want to stay longer," she informs, nuzzling her nose into my shoulder. "She adores Finnick. And babies. And Peeta."

"Yeah whatever, she likes me more." Katniss pulls away and glowers at me, pecking me on the lips. "It won't be so bad. You can look at _my_ cuteness there."

She pauses on that thought, brushing my hair from my face. "I'm sorry if it is going to be awkward for you to see Peeta."

I haven't given it much thought. At first I was hesitant to agree to go to this party for that reason, but Prim so desperately wants us to go with her. I reason that since Peeta and I are both going to be permanent parts of the baby's life, then we better begin getting along. His familial situation is already going to be hard to explain without us complicating it further with petty disagreements.

"I don't care," I reply honestly after a few moments of silence. "This little guy," I pat her belly, "is going to keep us connected. If he doesn't like it then he can kiss my ass."

"Charming."

* * *

With Prim in tow, we arrive at Finnick's party in his house, which is a huge place near the beach. A row of blue balloons sticking out of the ground lead us around the back of the large estate to the backyard, where there has to be like 200 people. Katniss looks over at me above Prim's head and grimaces. I hold her hand tightly and hand Prim our gifts.

"Do you mind putting these on the gifts table?" I ask, pointing her in the direction of the two long fold-out tables stacked with what look like around forty-thousand gifts in different shades of blue wrapping paper.

"Okay!" Prim scampers off toward the other side of the yard and I lean in, kissing Katniss's temple. I brush my lips against her ear as I speak. "All we have to do is find Finnick and his fiancee and thank them for the invitation and then we can bail, okay?"

She rubs her ear on her shoulder and shoots me a glare. "Okay, new rule. No whispering in my ear that close with your lips," her eyes dropped down, "and that mouth. Because I am thinking a bunch of thoughts that are not age appropriate for this party right now."

I frown. "Aw, come on. Pregnant Katniss is no fun." I cross my arms over my chest and stick out my tongue at her, prompting her to pinch my elbow and make me wince. "Ow. Pregnant Katniss is violent." I pout.

"Pregnant Katniss has to pee because there is a _being_ leaning on my bladder, so I'm going to find a bathroom." She gives me a quick kiss. "Don't stray too far."

As if I could. Prim finds her way back to me as Katniss waddles for a bathroom, and she takes my hand in hers. "C'mon, I found Finnick and that girl. You said we had to say hi." I did say that, I think regretfully. I allow Prim to lead me to a table where a man in a crisp white button-down with near-white dockers on stood, talking to a weirdly familiar looking redhead holding a baby.

Finnick looks over at me, first with surprise, then a warm smile. "Johanna! I'm glad you could make it." His seafoam eyes peer around me. "Where's Katniss?"

"Bathroom," I explain. The red-haired girl gives me a sympathetic smile. Suddenly it dawns on me where I know her from: she was the poor girl who was crying on me at my shop. I guess her telling her boyfriend about the pregnancy went better than she thought, if the rock on her finger is any indication. "Congratulations to both of you. He's gorgeous."

"Now pay the baby a compliment, it's not all about me," Finnick jokes, getting a nudge from his soon-to-be bride. I chuckle as Prim goes forward, leaning up on her toes to see the baby cradled in her arms. "This is Annie, by the way. And baby Jack. Annie, this is Johanna Mason, and this is Primrose Everdeen."

I reach out and shake her hand underneath baby's swaddle, smiling. "Johanna and I met before." She blushes. "I'm sorry I was a wreck that day." Her green eyes glance to Finnick. "I just about sobbed all over her shirt."

Finnick narrows his eyes in confusion. "She came into my shop looking for a flower because she was about to tell a charming, self-proclaimed bachelor that she was with his child and she wasn't sure of his reaction."

Finnick's expression slowly goes bright with realization as he wraps his arm protectively around Annie's back. "Oh, then I should be thanking you. The blue flowers were nice." His eyes shoot over to a woman with sandy blonde hair hanging off the arm of a burly looking man. "Annie, would you mind peeling my mother off your uncle?" Annie chuckles and kisses Finnick on the cheek before walking herself and Jack, along with tagalong Prim, toward the woman. Finnick looks at me sternly. "I really am glad you came. I invited Peeta as well, so I wasn't sure you'd come. I wanted to apologize for my behavior."

"There's nothing to apologize for," I reply, waving my hand. "You're his best friend. You stood up for him at his wedding and I was sleeping with his wife. You were well within your right as a friend. If it were my friend, I'd have done the same -" I stop mid-sentence and smirk. "Actually I wouldn't have been as nice. Either way, _she_ should have let me know."

Finnick nods, giving me a small, half-smile. "Peeta tells me he's never seen Katniss look happier. I guess it was all meant to be then, yeah?" He looks over my shoulder and quickly changes his expression from somber to his usual grinning face. "Speak of the devil, Mr. Mellark. Glad to see you."

I step back to allow Peeta into our conversation. I haven't seen him since the day he came home from his business trip, but he looks okay. He has gone with Katniss to one of her doctor's appointments when I was busy but she didn't say how he was. The same neatly cropped blond hair, the same puppy-dog blue eyes. I don't know what I expected, it _has_  been nearly four months. Like he's going to show up to this kid's party with dark circles under his eyes or look like a homeless man. Granted, if Katniss left me, that's certainly what I would look like. "Hey."

"Hey Johanna," he acknowledges, holding out his hand. I shake it and I've never felt more awkward in my entire life. "How have you been?"

 _Fucking your ex-wife._ "Good," I reply, giving him what I am assuming is a genuine smile. Not a smug 'Haha, she chose me' grin. "And yourself?"

"Good." He purses his lips and the three of us stand there, surrounded by the chatter of the other guests and the clinking of glassware. "Finnick, do you mind if I speak to Johanna alone a moment?"

The sandy-haired man nods his head. "I'm sure there's a woman or two here I need to steer away from Annie, lest she hear a tale I don't want her to. Enjoy the party." He pats us both on the back and cruises away, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at us. What is Peeta going to do, punch me in front of everyone at the party?

I open my mouth to speak but he hold up his hand. "Let me. I don't want to hear an apology."

I scoff. "I wasn't going to give you one." _  
_

Briefly I see flash of anger in his eyes but he reels it in and clears his throat. "I loved Katniss. I still do. I want her to be happy. More than anything I wanted to be the cause of that happiness in her." His downcast gaze comes up to look me in the eye. "It was painfully obvious to us both that I was not. And I don't know how much of that had to do with you, and how much of it was just it not being right."

I raise my eyebrow at him, tilting my head to the side. "Why are you telling me this? You don't owe me an explanation."

"I just," he says quickly, before inhaling a deep breath. "I just wanted to say that it may take me a while, but I want us all - you, me and Katniss - to be okay. I don't want this kid growing up like I did, with parents who hate each other." He gets a faraway look in his eyes, the kind that holds a lifetime of memories behind it. "I'm just saying I understand what happened. The way she feels about you, and the way I hope you feel about her, it's what I felt fifteen years ago when I saw her the first time. If anyone understands being struck by the unstoppable force, it's me. But in Katniss's life, I was the immovable object. Which meant I had to get out of the way."

I'm dumbstruck. A confrontation I could have been prepared for, with a lifetime of practice. But this is his olive branch. His way of saying that the situation is fucked up and I'm not entirely forgiven, but our love for her and for this unborn baby is a truce. "I really hope he gets your temperament. Because if Katniss's recent behavior is any indication of how angry she can get, we're all in trouble."

Peeta laughs, running his fingers through his hair and leveling his soft blue gaze at me. "You mean she hasn't gotten mad at you yet?" I shake my head. Of course she hasn't. Not really. She gets about halfway to mad and I just kiss her and make her shut up. "Oh man. She can get pretty heated. One time I forgot to take some cookies out of the oven and I filled the house with smoke. She got home from work and I'm trying to waft the smoke out the window. I thought she was gonna strangle me."

Katniss approaches from behind Peeta, her gray eyes enlarged with worry. I give her a smile and wave her over. Slowly she crosses the grass and comes around to my side and I place my hand on the small of her back, rubbing small circles there. "Hey Katniss. You look great."

He's so effortless in his ability to communicate. I've forgotten what he does for a living, but I hope it's something with marketing or communications because the man is not rattled. He seems to possess the ability to put everyone at ease, whereas I possess the ability to make everyone uncomfortable and slightly afraid.

"I look huge, but thank you anyway." She smiles at him. "Did I hear you telling Johanna about the time you nearly burned the house down?"

Peeta groans and looks at her with his smiling gaze. "Exaggerate much?" He looks at me. "It was a little smoke. It's not like the whole town was catching fire."

Katniss rolls her eyes and sighs. "Why exactly did that come up?"

"I was saying how I hope the baby has Peeta's even keel because you have a tendency to fly off the handle." Katniss moves her mouth into an offended shape and crosses her arms over her chest. Peeta and I share a glance - _Katniss_ \- and I chuckle. "Sorry to say that it's true. You possess neither Peeta's calm nor Primrose's steadfast logic." My teasing grin melts into a warm smile. "You are a woman of passion. That's one of the infinite reasons why I love you."

Katniss quirks a darkened eyebrow at me and narrows her gray gaze. "Nice save, Mason. But you're not off the hook." A silence settles between the three of us, heavy with awkwardness. Peeta shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Have you ladies eaten yet? The appetizers are really good. They have something like a little mini pizza on a bagel. But not that frozen one, but -"

"Mini pizzas?" Katniss interrupts, her eyes now scanning the backyard for someone in a serving uniform. Whoever that poor man or woman is, they are about to get a face full of Katniss prodding them for pizza. "C'mon, Jo, let's go find mini pizzas."

"It was nice seeing you, Peeta," I say as Katniss loops her arm around mine and drags me away from the blond man. That went much better than I expected. The tenacity is still there, mostly because of me, but we are okay. Hopefully there won't be an issues going forward. If we can act civilly even though I stole the love of his life to be the love of my life, then surely we can raise this kid up.

* * *

The day the baby is born is one of the worst rainstorms I have ever seen. Katniss and I are on our couch and I am thoroughly whooping her butt in Scrabble. Nine months pregnant and looking about every day of those months, she is hunched over the board, glaring at the tiles. Her due date has come and gone over the weekend, so by Monday we are waiting every day for him to make an appearance.

Finally, at around five at night, Katniss's hand flies to her stomach, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. The board and tiles go flying on the floor, scattered across the carpet as I leap up from my seat. I have done trials runs of this, like on I Love Lucy. Her overnight bag is packed and next to the door, my car is packed with baby things and emergency stuff. Everything is set.

I am still a wreck. I drive as quickly and safely as possible, fumbling with my cell phone as I call the first number that comes to mind. My mother. "Mom?" My panicked voice rings through the line.

"Johanna? Is everything all right? Are you okay?"

Even just the sound of her voice calms me a little. "Mom, it's Katniss. She's in labor. I'm driving to the hospital now and I don't know what else to do?"

My mother calmly laughs. "Oh baby, there's nothing else you can do. Get her there safely. I'll be there soon. Call Peeta and her mother when you get her checked in, okay?" I nod, dumbly not realizing she can't very well see me through the damn phone. "How far apart are her contractions?"

I put the phone on my shoulder and look at my girlfriend. "How far apart are your contractions?"

Wild eyes glare at me from the passenger seat. "Not far apart enough. Keep your eyes on the fucking road!"

I put the phone back to my ear. "Yeah, I'm gonna have to go now. I'll call her mother. I'll see you soon, Mom."

* * *

The baby doesn't come for a while. The doctor warns us that sometimes labor is a "hurry up and wait" situation. Her water broke but she wasn't fully dilated so we are to sit and relax for a while. Easy for her to say. Katniss is in pain every couple of minutes and I am beside myself on how to help her. Peeta shows up about an hour into our waiting, calm as he always is, which only serves to make me angrier.

Her sister sits in the waiting room with my mother, Cressida, Finnick, Annie and their baby. I called every single one of them as part of my mania when we got to the hospital. I even called Verbena to see if she was on duty. She isn't, but assured me she would come in later on as Katniss got closer to her birth.

And then it's happening.

With Peeta and I on one side and her mother on the other, Katniss begins pushing in the middle throes of birth. I wipe her forehead, trying to will some of her pain on to me. Seeing her in such excruciating pain makes my heart hurt. They don't tell you in the baby books how much it hurts the other person to see their wife in labor. Her face twisted, her forehead sweaty, her face pale; I can just about keep myself from crying.

"Can't you give her anything for the pain?" I finally bark at the doctor, who is elbow deep trying to get the little thing out of her.

"It's too late," she replies calmly, her eyes flicking to me from behind her glasses. "She's too far in for any more epidurals or pain medication."

"She's fine," Peeta states in what I'm sure he thinks is a calm, neutral voice. All I hear is "I don't care" and I lose my shit. "She doesn't need it. She's almost through."

"Actually she's got a while of pushing left," the doctor informs unhelpfully from behind her mask. "But we can't administer the pain medication."

I snarl. "Well somebody better do something because this is fucking ridiculous."

"Johanna, calm down," Peeta says to me. You know what the single worst thing to say to someone who is angry? _Calm down._

"You fucking calm down! You're the one that did this to her!" My voice is high and shrill as I direct all my misguided anger toward him. "This is all your fucking fault!"

"Johanna?" Katniss's voice comes from beside me and I look at her. "Stop yelling." She lets out another hard scream and I turn to Peeta.

Peeta motions to me. "See? Now you're upsetting Katniss."

I glare at him. "Are you fucking kidding? You know what's upsetting Katniss? Pushing out your spawn!" I yell, standing from my hunched over position.

Peeta's normally pale face is flush. "This is ridiculous. You are out of control right now, Johanna!"

"You're out of fucking control!" I spit back. "Don't fucking tell me to calm down! Look how much pain she's in!"

"I can see that! But you're not helping! You're just making this worse!"

"I am trying to make it better, which is more than I can say for you!"

"Yeah, because your screaming is really gonna help Katniss push the baby out. Get a fucking grip!" I haul back and punch him directly in the nose. Well, his nose and some of his cheek beneath his eye.

And that's how we end up in the hallway outside the birthing room, chairs a few feet apart. Peeta holds a blue ice pack to his face while I hold my face in my hands. Katniss is still screaming inside but the doctor kicked us out until we can "calm down." I almost punched _her_ in the face, too.

My mother appears, staring down at the pair of us like scolded children. "Johanna Mason, I am very, very disappointed in you." My mother lays the guilt into me as I gaze down at the tile. My knuckle is bloody from punching Peeta, and a little swollen, but I'm too proud to ask for some ice. "How could you possibly think to hit Peeta? Your girlfriend is in there having a baby. Your baby. Both of yours. And you have the audacity to fight? Are you a child?"

"No," I respond solemnly.

"Really? Because that's how you're acting. Birth is birth. Yes, Katniss is in pain. But it will all be over soon. That baby will come out and he will come out into a room full of love, not bickering schoolchildren." She places her hands on her hips as I look up at her. "Now apologize."

I don't want to miss the birth of our child because of my temper. I look over at Peeta glumly. "I'm sorry."

It's genuine enough. I look up at my mom, just as I've done a thousand times when I've had to apologize for beating someone up, and she nods at me. "Apology accepted," Peeta says from the side of me. "I think we both know who'll be teaching our son to defend himself."

I let out a short laugh and shake my head. The doctor ordered us both out and now we are on the precipice of not seeing our son being born because I have pride issues. My mother walks away and goes back toward the waiting room with everyone else, no doubt to let them know of what I did. Cressida will understand, though that's little comfort now.

Verbena jogs down the hallway, dressed in her jeans with a scrub top and her hair in a net, mask around her neck. I stand up, my eyes wide. "Thank god you're here. I need to get back into that room."

She smirks at me and looks to Peeta. "This was your doing? How could you punch the father of your baby? Are you nuts?"

I pout, looking down toward the ground, chastised again. "Katniss was in pain and I lost my cool."

"I would venture to say you never _had_ your cool, but I don't want to get punched again." Peeta looks over at me and smiles from behind the ice pack against his face.

V sighs and walks toward the door. "Luckily for you, I interned with Dr. Coin so I might be able to get you back in the room. Stay put." She enters the birthing room, pulling her mask up from around her neck. One of Katniss's long wails sounds as she does so and my heart clenches. Peeta puts his trembling hand on my shoulder.

After what feels like around one million years, V finally emerges, pulling the mask down from on her face. We stare at her expectantly. "You can both go in. Quietly. No more arguing, definitely no more punching," she emphasizes, glaring at me. "And just in time, too. She's just about to crown."

I grab her into a quick hug. "Thank you," I whisper into her hair. I know I owe her a thousand favors. She accepted the end of our casual fling with more grace than I thought a young woman capable. We meet on occasion for lunch and I routinely send her flowers every other month to brighten up her desk, and once to congratulate her when she had been promoted at work. But this is going above and beyond the call of duty for someone who all I did was have sex with.

Then again, I am _really_ good.

She nods toward the door and walks around me, pushing both Peeta and I back into the room. She was right, when we enter the doctor is just about to begin pulling his head out. I rush to Katniss's side as Peeta positions himself near the doctor.

I smooth her hair on her forehead and she looks at me, her eyes meeting mine and she even manages a small smile. "You're back. Don't leave anymore, please, okay?" Her voice is hoarse from her screaming and I nod.

"I'm here baby," I whisper, placing a kiss on her temple. I push her hair back and take her hand in mine. "Now squeeze my hand and push this kid out for once and for all."

She nearly breaks my hand in her vice grip but it does the trick. The room is suddenly filled with the sharp cry of a newborn. It's kind of gross. He's dripping with blood and matter, all scrawny and crying. But it's possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. After the clamping and severing of cords, the cleaning of noses and swaddling, the doctor finally hands the baby to Peeta, who gingerly holds the boy in his arms. I feel like a real jerk for ruining the moment because his poor cheek is swollen and he has a tiny white bandage on his nose.

Katniss's mother begins sobbing at near hysterical levels as Peeta hands the baby to me with a wide smile. "Our boy," he whispers, even though the soft voice is unnecessary. The baby is crying so loud I can barely hear Mrs. Everdeen's loud bawls. He squirms in my arms, letting out little wails with his tiny eyes shut.

My own eyes fill with tears as I grasp his little hand. "Hey kid." I rub my eye with my shoulder to try and prevent my tears from falling on to the newborn. "Welcome to the planet."

I slowly bend down and hand him to Katniss. I feel Peeta's arm go over my shoulder as we both look down at the pair of them. Even there, just after giving birth, she looks amazing. I'm not even sure I'm capable of the vocabulary to describe her. She loos like what I imagine the gates of Heaven look like after they open. Her holding our baby is the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. Every Christmas, birthday, goal achieved, great meal eaten, all rolled into one thing. It's overwhelming.

I sniff back my tears as Peeta moves away to go toward the doctor to handle something. Whatever it is I don't care. He mentions some words about letting everyone know the baby is born and he leaves the room quietly.

I pull the chair next to the bed and place my arm over Katniss's stomach, laying my head next to hers. "He's beautiful." Katniss looks at me and smiles, the happiest, purest smile I think anyone has ever given. She's exhausted but clearly thrilled. Her eyes have never been clearer.

"You have a name yet?" the nurse asks, clipboard in her hand. She looks toward us expectantly, her tongue between her teeth.

I glance at Katniss who is staring down at the boy. His eyes are now open a bit, just tiny little flecks of gray staring back up at her. We decided on a name four months earlier, but we had told no one. Not even Peeta. It's our little secret, our gift to each other. It wasn't even an entire conversation. Once we learned the gender we sort of shared a look and we knew.

"Oliver James."


	10. The Sleepover

I peer over at the clock next to the bed and make a sad whimper. 4:01AM. Oliver's cries can be heard loud and clear through the apartment and Katniss shuffles next to me and groans. My bedroom is ensconced in darkness with the exception of the monitor next to my side of the bed, which illuminates the side of the room in a pale white glow.

"How does he exist with no sleep?" I ask sleepily, rubbing my eyes and willing myself to be awake. Katniss mumbles something unintelligible into the blanket and shifts closer to me, wrapping her arm around my waist. "Like how is he even alive right now? He's only slept five minutes in the last five days."

"Leave him for a second. If we keep rushing there he'll never sleep through the night." I stare up at the ceiling and inhale a deep breath that I hope is relaxing. But the boy's piercing cries shake around inside my brain. Katniss can feel me tense and she holds me tighter. "That's not a hungry cry. That's a fake cry."

"I don't think newborns cry for no reason," I respond, turning on my side so I can face Katniss. This is week ten of Oliver's life and I swear I think he's slept for about twenty minutes across the last two months. "What if he fell out of the crib? What if he's stuck  _in_  the crib?" The panic in my voice rises to comical levels.

"What if he got out and is making us all pancakes and he's crying because he can't reach the syrup?" I glare at Katniss as she smiles at me, kissing the tip of my nose. "If he had fallen out of the crib, we would have heard it over the baby monitor. Or seen it," she gestures toward the small screen next to my bed, "on this big brother contraption you insisted on buying." She closes her eyes and snuggles further into her pillow. "Besides, he can't fall out of that crib. It's the 'safest crib on the planet' remember?"

She is right, of course. I look over at the screen and see Oliver wailing in his crib, clenched fists shaking next to his body. He is fine. Maybe he pooped himself. Evidently there is a need to cry profusely when one poops oneself. After five solid minutes of crying Katniss releases her grip around my waist and I get out of bed. Katniss has been the one who usually tends to him, since half the time the little guy is just starving and I can not be of service. But I try to be helpful sometimes. I pad into the nursery, wincing as the cries are infinitely louder in his room. I should have just padded the walls like a cell in an insane asylum or a rock band studio.

"C'mon OJ," I plead, picking up the boy from his crib and hoisting him over my shoulder. "Calm down for me, okay? I know it's hard because being a baby is rough times." He begins to quiet down a little, his cries now less forceful. "I mean, what is this world, right? You've only been on the planet for like seventy-something days. Everything is new. Poop is new, pee is new, all smells are new. Every time you see something it's the first time and your little baby brain is confused. I'm sure that's pretty tough."

I rub his back and he breathes more slowly, his little fuzzy head warming my shoulder. "But 4am is not the time to be contemplating your life here in the universe. Why? Because your mommies have to function in the morning and, as you'll learn when you're older, sleep is necessary for that. So please,  _please_  go the fuck to sleep," I whisper softly as I bounce the boy up and down and pace the room.

After a few minutes of the bouncing he is finally asleep again and I creep slowly back toward the crib. As if I am diffusing a bomb I move him back into his crib, not wanting to even breathe too hard and wake him up again. I place him back in the crib and tip-toe toward the door in the darkness, reaching for the door handle. The moment I turn it, the cries start up again.

I hang my head in defeat and trundle back to the crib. I guess I'm waking up at 4am today.

* * *

I don't hear the scrape of the door against the rug of the front of my shop with my head down on the counter. Katniss is going to the doctor for a check-up and then lunch with her mother, so since Peeta is working, I am entrusted to care for Oliver. For the first time in what feels like about twenty years he's asleep, so I disengaged the bell on the door. I have him in one of those "carry and go" sleeping contraptions next to me, and I am on the stool next to the register. Somewhere in the last hour my head hit the counter and I was fast asleep.

Peeta taps me on the arm and I wake up with a jolt, nearly falling off the stool. "I could've robbed the place, you know," Peeta says jokingly and I press my hand over his mouth.

"Do not speak louder than a whisper. Don't even  _think_ loud thoughts," I warn in the lightest tone I can. "He has fallen asleep and it's a miracle." My eyes went wide as I look at him. "I haven't sleep a whole night in months. All I get are naps. All that exists in the world is diapers and naps."

Peeta chuckles under his breath and peeks over the counter to look down at the boy. He smiles at Oliver's sleeping form. He is really cute. A little swirl of light brown hair and a tiny nose with a little rounded end. He is also kinda pudgy and, according to Katniss, looks like what Peeta looked like as a baby. In my estimation he may be the greatest baby ever born. Then again, I'm biased. "He's awesome."

"He truly is." I yawn and stretch my limbs, looking over at the blond man. "What brings you here?"

"I was on my lunch break and I thought I'd come and visit," he says casually, leaning down to sniff one of the flowers. "I know you guys have had it rough the last couple weeks." With Peeta working more and both Katniss and I available a lot, it made more sense for Oliver to spend more time with us for the time being. Their divorce is not final anyway, and the most obvious conclusion is to allow Peeta whatever time he wants, but most of the boy's time is spent at my apartment.

"On a normal day he'd be awake but I drugged him so he's fast asleep," I rib, rocking the tiny bed back and forth. Oliver stirs but does not waken, and I expel the breath I've been holding. "Did you not sleep well as a baby?"

Peeta shrugs. "I don't know actually. I'm the last of four boys so I don't think anyone was paying attention anyway." Peeta grabs a nearby stood and sits himself by Oliver's feet, watching his son sleep. Over the last two months things have calmed down considerably. Doctor Coin suggested I "seek therapy" because of my violent outburst. She isn't wrong, of course. I'm sure I looked absolutely nuts punching this guy in the face.

I just have to keep reminding myself that it is okay to let go of some of the control. Having been with Katniss every day for the last six months of her pregnancy, I feel protective of both of them. I feel like Peeta hasn't done a good enough job. If he had, maybe she wouldn't have left him, you know? I realize, though, that statement isn't fair. My love for Katniss, and hers for me, is not a reflection of Peeta's poor spousal abilities or his value as a person.

That switch is hard to turn off, though. Oliver makes a quiet mewl like a cat and stretches, blinking gray eyes rapidly. Peeta smiles and slides his hands underneath the baby before I can protest and lifts him from the carrier. I sigh and Peeta looks at me, blue eyes darting between me and the baby. "What?"

"He wasn't awake. You ...he's gonna cry." I take my upper lip in my mouth and grimaced, waiting for the inevitable wail. Peeta looks at me and grins. "See? He's fine. He knows Daddy's here and he's gonna -" Oliver lets out a cry so shrill I think it wakes the dead. Peeta appears momentarily frazzled but then stands up, rocking the baby in his arms and shushing him.

"I told you," I grumble, watching him walk around the shop with the inconsolable infant.

"Well, yeah, after I picked him up which wasn't exactly helpful." He focuses his attention back on the baby, rubbing his back and whispering words into his ear. Oliver is having none of it. Neither am I.

"Because you picked him up the second he moved! Just because he made a noise doesn't mean he was in the mood to be handled." I roll my eyes. "I guess that explains how Katniss got pregnant."

When I was eight I had to see a therapist for around three months because I told a boy on the playground to play in traffic because he insisted I was his girlfriend. I firmly maintain that I was within my right to tell him to essentially kill himself because he was treating me like a commodity. My teachers disagreed and they told me to think about my words before I speak. I should have a filter from brain to mouth because my words can hurt people's feelings.

Now I won't even get into how fucked up it is to try and blame me for his harassment, but that moment pulls up in my brain again as I see Peeta's angry look. I completely crossed a line and we both know it. Peeta scoffs and ganders around at the flowers, still bouncing Oliver in his arms. "You know, I think I have been pretty nice about this whole situation. I welcomed you into  _my_  life, had you at  _my_  wedding, invited you into  _my_  home and what did you do?" He narrows his blue eyes at me. "You slept with my wife. I know you love her and that's wonderful, but you need to take a step back and realize how selfish you've been." He pauses in his steps, squaring his jaw. "You have the fucking audacity to act like  _I'm_ the outsider in my own family?"

I'm sure I have ever heard Peeta curse before. I'm so startled I can't form a response, my mouth just opens and closes like a fish in water. "I..."

"Katniss and I had our problems but we were working on it. It was good for a while, you know?" he asks rhetorically, lowering his voice as Oliver's cries begin to die down. "And if she had stayed with me out of guilt that would've been fine, wouldn't it?" Peeta laughs at his own expense, shaking his head. "I thought we were good. I thought she and I were gonna get through this. That maybe if I paid more attention..." He sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I couldn't figure out what you offered her that I didn't."

"It's not that simple."

"I thought it could be," he replies quickly. He holds Oliver in the crook of his arm, rocking him back and forth with ease. He truly is a natural with him; some people are just born to be parents. "The day she told me she was pregnant she left me." I widen my eyes in surprise. He looks equally as surprised at my reaction. "She didn't tell you?"

I shake my head. "She called me and said 'everything's changed' but I hung up on her. I figured she was pregnant so she had clearly made her choice."

He hoists the baby on his broad shoulder and cradles his back, still bouncing on his heels in spite of the fact that Oliver is already back asleep. "No. She told me she was pregnant and that she didn't love me anymore. It was like being punched in the gut on Christmas morning." He levels his gaze at me, his sky blue eyes glossy. "I begged her to stay."

"Look, Peeta, I didn't intend to -"

"It doesn't matter what your intentions were, Johanna," he cuts in, ice in his tone. "If the roles were reversed, you would not be standing where I'm standing right now. You would've beaten the snot out of me the second you found out I was sleeping with your wife." He raises his eyebrow as if to challenge me to refute him. I can't. "And you would not have let me in this baby's life."

I grimace. "All right, I get it. You're a bigger, better person than me. I'm the worst human that's ever lived." It's dripping with sarcasm but I mean most of it. Peeta rolls his eyes at me and I cross my arms over my chest. "I can't take it back, Peeta. I wouldn't. I'm really sorry that your life got messed up but I can't do anything to change what happened or how Katniss and I feel about each other."

"I'm not asking you to." He hands Oliver to me and I transfer the quiet infant into his bed. I place my hand on his belly and smooth his swaddle. "I'm asking you to be civil. I'm really trying here and you acting like I'm an intruder in my own son's life is ridiculous."

I let out a sigh, rubbing my temples with my fingertips. "It's hard."

Peeta scoffs at me again. "You think this is hard? You know what's hard? Seeing the only woman you ever loved look at someone else in a way that she never looked at you. It's hard to wake up alone every day in that house with her smell and her favorite foods in my cupboards. It's hard for me to watch a television show and want to talk about it with her. It's hard to bake her favorite cookies and know she'll never eat them. It's hard to go to sleep and not say I love you to anyone. It's hard to suddenly not have anyone to say it to me."

He turns on his heel and begins slowly toward the door. There is nothing I can say. I can't defend my actions. I am in love and I have no other recourse other than that. "You didn't just take my wife. You took my world. Don't try and take me out of my son's life too. It's the only piece of her I'll ever have. You got everything else."

* * *

I don't see Peeta for a while after that. He's come to the apartment to take Oliver for a day during the times he knows I'll be at work. Katniss says he's looking better than he has, but she doesn't know I know that is a lie. He's still hurting. Being with Katniss now makes me understand his heartbreak, at least in theory. I don't know what I'd do with myself if she left me. She really is my world. Sure, life would go on, but I want to share it with her. Peeta has no one to share his life with.

Yet, I can't pull up enough sympathy for him, which makes me feel worse. I feel entitled to Katniss because we love each other. Surely true love is an excuse to ruin someone's life, right? And is his life ruined? He still has his job, his health, his looks, his family. Hell, even Prim still visits him so he has some of Katniss's family, too. And of course, there is Oliver. None of these things help me sleep at night.

A month or so later Katniss has gone back to work temporarily and she is needed on an out of town conference for the weekend so I am home with Oliver. Friday and Saturday go smoothly; Prim stayed Friday to Saturday morning to help me. Saturday night however, Oliver is inconsolable. He isn't running a fever and he certainly isn't hungry but he's sobbing heartily from deep in his stomach, from around seven until eleven at night.

After calling Katniss, Mrs. Everdeen, my mother, Cressida, even Verbena, I finally settle on the last person I think would or could help me: Peeta. Near tears myself, I hear his voice come through the line. "Peeta it's Johanna, please don't hang up," I say quickly.

His sigh comes over the line though I barely hear it. "Is everything okay?" he asks tiredly. I can almost feel the ennui from my apartment.

"It's Oliver. He just..." I suck in a deep breath. "He won't stop crying. I can't get him to stop. It's been like four hours. I don't know what to do."

He surely doesn't want to help me but he'll feel compelled to because of our son. "Okay. Did you try running the faucet? Sometimes he likes to watch it."

"Trust me I'd have shot him with a hose by now if I thought it would help. Can you just..." I press my hand carrying my phone against my head while my other arm rocks the screaming infant. "Can you come over?"

There is a long pause on the line. "Yeah sure. I'll be right over." He hangs up and I toss my phone on the couch and continue cradling Oliver. His little face is all reddened, his eyes squeezed shut. If Peeta can't help then I'll have to call the pediatrician and possibly bring him to the hospital. I really don't want to do that because it's like admitting that I'm not a good parent. What kind of mother can't comfort her baby?

Peeta arrives around twenty minutes later in a pair of sweatpants and a college t-shirt, looking more casual than I've ever seen him. We hurry into the nursery and between the two of us sing, read, dance, bounce, and do everything short of shooting the baby with tranquilizers to get him to sleep.

Finally, after hours of cooing and outright begging, Oliver falls asleep, seemingly out of pity for us and exhausted from all our efforts. Peeta and I collapse on the floor in the nursery and I hand him a beer. I lean my glass near his and he smiles, clinking it against mine.

"Thank you," I say, gulping down half the bottle in one swig. "I don't know what I would've done without you here."

Peeta drinks his beer and shrugs his shoulders. "You would've been fine. You're good with him."

"Not like you are," I comment back, sipping the beverage. Peeta's inner ability to calm everyone resonates particularly well with Oliver. I'm usually jealous but tonight, mostly thankful.

We drink a few more beers, both of us catching a nice buzz as Oliver sleeps soundly in the room "My big fear," Peeta begins, setting his fifth beer down on the floor, "was not her leaving me. It was us ending up like my parents. Hating each other and being manipulative and emotionally distant. I'm glad it didn't come to that."

I shake my head. "I don't think it would have. You know she loves you. Sometimes just love isn't enough."

"I'm glad she's happy. That's about all I can be." He leans his head back, running his fingers through his hair. I didn't know why I feel like I need his approval. Probably because I am the reason he is unhappy and I want to fix him.

We sit in the quiet, listening to the high whistle of Oliver's breathing in the crib near us. "Are we ever gonna be okay?"

Peeta lets a stream of air out of his lips. He appears to be deep in thought, staring at the painted wall opposite where we are sitting. "Why didn't you tell me you picked a name?"

"What?" I don't know if it's the liquor or Peeta, but I don't even understand him.

"Oliver. You guys didn't even tell me you picked something." He sounds so defeated and betrayed I can't stop the pity in my eyes. We didn't tell him until just before he was born.

"I don't know. I felt like... that was something of mine and Katniss's, you know? It was a name that was meaningful to us. And I - I just wanted some connection." I take his hand in mine, evidently feeling tactile in my somewhat drunk state. "I'm really fucking sorry."

I rest my head on his shoulder and we again let a soft silence fill the room. He waits a long time before speaking that I've almost fallen asleep. "I think down the road we'll be okay. It's going to take me a while though. Just hearing her name still breaks my heart." He muses on that thought for another few beats. "I don't think I'll ever stop loving her. But maybe somewhere... maybe in the future, I'll fall out of love. Because even though she cheated... I'd still take her back." He softly laughs. "She has no idea, the effect she has."

"She really doesn't."

* * *

I awaken slowly to the sound of gentle humming. Sunlight is streaming through the window and I am acutely aware of the heat of another body and the pain in my neck. When my eyes adjust for the light I realize I am sleeping on Peeta, who is waking as slowly as I am.

Katniss is sitting in the rocking chair with a blanket over her shoulder feeding Oliver. "You're both finally awake. I thought I'd have to get a ship's horn."

Peeta stands up and rubs his chin, a very thin layer of stubble scratching against his hand. He holds out his hands and I grab them, pulling myself off the floor. Katniss watches us quizzically but says nothing.

Peeta glances at his quartz watch and lets out a yawn. "Well I've got a bunch of laundry to do so I'll get out of here." He gives Katniss a wave and leaves the room and I follow him to the door.

"Thanks again for last night," I say to his turned back. He turns around and gives me a nod, reaching for the knob and letting himself out. I close the door behind him. As I turn around I see Katniss holding a happy and giggling Oliver, both pairs of identical gray eyes staring me down. "What?"

"So you're not going to explain why I found my girlfriend and my ex-husband on the floor in my son's room?" Katniss raises her eyebrow at me and I smirk.

"Well the reason he's your ex is because I'm your girlfriend, if that clears that up." Katniss strides across the room and pinches my side. "And I needed help with Ollie last night, and we sorta feel asleep."

"If I wasn't holding our son you'd be in trouble." I grin at her and she leans in, hovering her lips over mine. "But you're in a lot of trouble later." She backs away, carrying the boy over to the couch and sitting down with him on her stomach. She grabs his tiny hands as he sits up on her and she makes him dance. "So Mama, tell Ollie and I what happened."

I smile and go over to the couch, laying my head on Katniss's shoulder as she plays with Oliver. "Well since Mommy wasn't home it was apparently time to scream and cry for four hours straight." Katniss's eyes go wide and I nod. "I called everyone and he was the only one who could help."

"I'm glad he came. It's important for you guys to get along and I know it's been hard on him."

I cock my eyebrow at her and got off the couch, moving into the kitchen and preparing myself a coffee. "Reasonable considering you told him you were pregnant and left him the same day." There is a hint of accusation in my tone and Katniss takes it like a slap in the face. "Something I did not know and was frankly, rather startled to hear."

"What was I supposed to do? Live with him even though I'm in love with you? That wouldn't have been fair to any of us." Oliver giggles adorably and Katniss smiles at him though it doesn't reach her eyes. "Getting pregnant wasn't planned, trust me. That happened before you and I had sex." I grimace. "I was going to tell him I was leaving him, then I missed my period." Her eyes fall to the floor. "I didn't know what to do, but all I could think with any clarity was that I couldn't lose you. I didn't want the baby to mean that I could never be with you." She sighs. "And I reasoned it was easier to tell him everything at once - that I was pregnant and wanted a divorce - rather than draw out either one of them."

"Easier for you," I accuse. "Not easier for him."

"None of this would've been easy for him," she reasons. "No matter when I broke his heart, it was going to destroy him. I knew that, and I felt it was more honest and respectful to do it as soon as I knew. I'm not saying Peeta's pain and mine are on the same level, because it seems like I got everything I wanted. I got you, and my baby, and the support of the greatest man I've ever known, but it doesn't mean I don't feel guilt or pain over seeing him broken. I hate that I caused that pain in him. But though my happiness came sooner, all of us will be happier down the road. Because Peeta will realize one day how amazing it is to be with someone who loves you as much as you love them."

"I've just been shitty and I made you shitty to him. I'm exactly the person I don't want to be." I'm a home wrecker and a stubborn asshole. I'm not the mother Oliver deserves. I take my cup and sip the piping hot liquid.

Katniss places Oliver in his play pen and crosses the room toward me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling my hips toward hers. Her thigh presses against my center and I gasp. She grins evilly and takes my hands, pinning them behind my back with some force.

"I know you don't think so, but you are a good person. Peeta's a good person, too. Probably better than we are. We made a fucked up decision but it doesn't change that you have a good heart. I wouldn't have fallen for you otherwise. I wouldn't let you near my son." She presses her lips against mine, sliding her warm tongue across my lips and causing my body to shake. "Not to mention how smart," her mouth moves down my neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses to my earlobe, "and sexy you are."

"Fucking ...Katniss. The baby." My word comes out in staccato gasps as she sucks hard on the skin of my shoulder, still aggressively pinning my hands behind me.

"He's gonna take a nap soon," she drawls, moving the tip of her tongue from my shoulder back to my lips, pressing her lips against mine harshly and trapping me closer against the sink. "And I told you that you're in trouble."

She lets my hands go and runs hers through my hair, dragging her nails against my scalp. "What if we wake him?"

Katniss smiles against my mouth, tugging on my lower lip with her teeth. "My mom is coming in fifteen minutes to pick him up. Which is a good thing." Her voice lowers to a rough husk, her hot breath directly against my ear. "Because I plan on making you scream."


	11. The End

The following six months fly by with startling rapidity. Katniss and Peeta finalized their divorce in what the judge called the most "amicable divorce" he'd ever presided over. For obvious reasons Peeta sold the house, moving into a beautiful high-rise apartment near his job complete with a gorgeous nursery/bedroom for Oliver that even I am jealous of. They split custody of Oliver, who is growing about five inches per second. I swear he's going to be six feet tall by first grade. Finnick and Annie got married in a wedding by the sea, a day I don't think anyone saw coming or would forget.

Christmas came and went; my apartment is now filled to the brim with books and toys for Oliver. Soon after, Katniss and I began the bizarre task of planning a one-year-old's birthday party. Oliver can say Mama and Mommy and Daddy, along with what I think is supposed to be "milk" and about three other words, and  _somehow_  Katniss is certain of all the things "he" wanted for his party.

Parties for kids under like three are essentially just parties for adults with juice and cake and no booze. Ergo, little fun. We use the back of Finnick's house with the giant yard, setting up a face painting booth and a ball pit and other bacteria-growing facilities for kids. All three of our families are invited, as well as some of our colleagues and friends, making it almost as large as Finnick's son's event. Peeta's brothers are all in attendance and, well, it becomes very obvious why he has nothing to do with them. The eldest, Rex, is a pompous man with Peeta's looks on a giant body builder physique. He spends most of the day flirting with just about every woman there, including me.

He's holding Oliver near the punch bowl, engaging me in a conversation about protein or something else I hold no interest in. He switches gears and smiles at me. "I can't even believe this kid is real. You know, a guy's wife leaves him for a woman you assume his junk doesn't work, right?"

At first I'm sure I've heard him right. Surely someone wouldn't engage a stranger in a conversation about someone's penis. My fists clench at my sides. His comment is offensive on several levels: it offends Peeta, it offends me, and most damningly it insults Katniss. No one insults Katniss in front of me. Somehow this man doesn't know who I am, otherwise hopefully he would have known better. All I can manage is an "Is that so?" through clenched teeth.

He nods, bouncing Oliver on one of his overly muscled arms. "And what kinda man lets his wife walk off with a  _woman_? A little pussy like Peeta, that's who." He is leaning toward me as if we are sharing a secret. Instead I am thinking of all the ways to choke him without hurting my son.

In the last six months the relationship between Katniss, Peeta and I has come to a relatively peaceful place. We make sure not to exclude him from decisions, even taking a week's vacation to the beach so he could have some time alone with Ollie. Katniss called him every day when we were away but it's working out well.

So to have this asshole acting as if someone's sexuality moving across the Kinsey scale is somehow Peeta's fault makes me want to clock him in the jaw. He begins tossing Oliver in the air, producing a few giggles from my traitorous son. However, Oliver has just eaten some juice and baby wheat puffs and I  _really_  should tell him the tossing is a bad idea.

I don't. And like a champ Oliver spits up all over the man's face and shirt, coating him in a light orange spew. I take Oliver from him, wiping his mouth with a bib I keep in my pocket. "Oh I'm  _so_  sorry. He just ate. Katniss!" I call for my girlfriend, who excuses herself from her conversation and comes over. "Honey, can you help Rex clean his shirt?"

My overly kind tone makes her look at me warily and I try to let her know through eye contact that I hate this guy. I lean in and kiss her sweetly, leaning into her ear. "This guy's a fucking asshole." I smile at her and walk away with Oliver in my arms.

* * *

The rest of the party goes well. Peeta's parents are just as horrendous as he described, not even attempting to be civil the entire day. They spend most of the day apart, gathering different groups of people to trash talk the other. I think if I were Peeta I never would've married at all; if that's the example he has, then how does he know that marriages work?

The end of day comes quickly for us and Oliver is sound asleep in his car seat as we sit on a picnic bench outside Finnick's house. Jack is asleep in the grass at our feet, Annie sitting cross-legged next to him. Katniss is in the car's backseat with Oliver, exhausted from the day's work. Peeta hands me a beer and takes one for himself. "My brother told me Ollie puked on him."

I snicker and nod. "If Oliver could've understood what he was saying he might have done it twice as hard." I tip the beverage back into my mouth, take a swig and sigh, looking out in to the lawn. "Can I ask you something?"

"If it's about my brothers, then no." I shake my head and he holds out his hand. "Then by all means go ahead."

I suck in a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut. "I want to ask Katniss to marry me." I open them and see Finnick look between us, wide-eyed. I've been planning on proposing for months but the timing never seems right. I want Peeta to be okay with it. I need his approval.

From the placid look on his face, it's not likely. "That's not a question," he replies neutrally.

I sigh. "I wanted to see if it was okay with you." It's a lot to ask. A year has gone by, though, and things feel like they are as normal as they'll ever be. Peeta is staring into his beer, swirling the carbonated drink around.

He looks at me wearily. "You don't need my permission. You're both adults."

I firm my lips in a line. "I want your blessing."

A long silence punctuated by the sound of actual crickets in the yard falls between the five of us. "I'm sorry." He stands up, placing the half finished beer on the table. "I can't." Hands in the pockets of his dockers, he walks across the lawn and disappears down their driveway to his car.

I exhale a loud breath, placing my unfinished drink next to his. I bite the inside of my cheek, looking between Finnick and Annie. "He'll come around," Annie assures me with a smile. I admire her steadfast optimism but I'm really doubtful.

I smile warily. "No he won't. I wouldn't." My eyes went to Finnick, who seems to be looking everywhere except me. "Would you?"

He ruffles his blond hair and looks at Annie. "As Peeta's best friend, I can tell you that yeah, I think eventually come around. He won't want to be there, but he'll be okay. But also as his best friend, I have to tell you that the wounds you caused him will take longer than just a year to heal. And if they don't, well, I won't blame him."

I stand up from the picnic table and thank them again for their hospitality and their work. I can feel the lump in my throat growing and I really don't want to cry in front of Annie and Finnick. I make my way to the car and settle in the driver's seat, wiping a stray tear that's escaped my eye. I glance at Katniss in the rear view mirror. She must feel my eyes because she opens hers sleepily and smiles at me.

"Everything okay?" Her voice, rough with sleep, makes me smile in spite of myself. I am certain more than anything that I want to hear that voice every morning for the rest of my life.

"Yeah, baby girl," I say quietly with a smile forced on my lips. "Everything's roses."

* * *

I put the thought of proposing on the back burner. I've already picked out a ring with Cressida and I carry it with me at almost all times. It hurts my heart that Peeta said no but he's within his right. And of course, we  _are_  adults and I can just ask her anyway. But it won't feel right if Oliver's father doesn't want his moms to be married. It doesn't set a good tone for our marriage. However, I can't stop thinking of Hank and Michelle. What if  _they_  had waited? The compelling thought of wanting to start our lives as soon as possible begins to override my need for Peeta's approval.

One lazy afternoon, I find myself lounging in my pajamas with Cressida, watching television. Katniss has taken Oliver to Peeta's for the weekend, and planned on having dinner with him while she was there. A woman in a wedding dress comes on the screen, advertising a dress boutique and I change the channels with a grunt. "What are you bloody waiting for?" Cressida asks, pointing her slice of pizza toward the ring I'm moving around in my fingers.

I look at her and roll my eyes. "It feels wrong."

Cressida eyes me sympathetically and takes my hand in hers. "Darling, I've never seen you more in love. And as I've gotten to know your girl, I think the same can be said for her. I'll never say that you should've been a part of her marriage failing, but a lot of happiness has come out of this. Ollie has three devoted parents, three sets of grandparents, and a wonderful network of support including yours truly." She grins. "Peeta has had a lot of time to come to terms with his marriage ending. And while it's understandable that he can't accept his ex wife marrying someone else, to wait on him is bloody idiotic. He may never be okay with it. But you are,  _she_  is, and I think Ollie would want you to make his mother an honest woman again."

Her logic makes sense. I'm still carrying around a lot of guilt and I feel like I owe it to Peeta to keep it with me always. But none of us are going to move on if I'm waiting on him to make a move. It's my life too. I look at my friend. "You're right. I love her, C."

She rolls her eyes. "I know. You're fucking obnoxious about it." She snatches the remote from me and flips through the channels, giving me a smile as she gazes at me out of the corner of her eye. "If I'm not your best man I swear to God I'll crash your wedding."

* * *

With Oliver at my mother's house, Katniss and I have a rare night to ourselves. I've arranged a romantic night out for us, something formal that we don't get to do anymore. I sit against the kitchen sink, waiting anxiously for her to finally get ready. The ring is firmly planted in my bra, pressing against my breast. I've chosen a slinky black dress with a pair of strappy heels, my hair done up with fringe hanging down by my face.

But Katniss. She is a revelation. Her hair is down in soft curls, bouncing on and passed her shoulders. Her dress is form hugging and a deep burgundy, accentuating her curves in every place. My breath is literally held in my throat as she comes into the kitchen.

"My god," I say breathlessly. "You are..." My vocabulary fails me horribly as I gaze into her eyes. She looks more than beautiful. She looks like every sunrise I've ever seen. She looks like the reason the particles in the universe came together to create life. "I am the luckiest person who has ever walked this earth."

Katniss blushes, wrapping her arms around me. "Far from it."

I kiss her gently, trying not to smudge her lipstick. Instead the colors get mixed, but I don't mind. The night is going to be amazing no matter what color we're wearing. This incredible creature is going to be my wife. I'm going to wake up to those dazzling diamond eyes, go to sleep with the feeling of her kiss on my lips. I'm going to take her hand in mine and twirl our wedding band around her finger.

 _Mine_. Forever.

* * *

I replay a thousand times in my brain, as groggy as I am, how the night could have gone differently. If we left a minute later, if we stopped for gas, if we chose another reservation. In my sloshed up dreams I propose to her with a million stars reflecting in her eyes. She says yes and fireworks explode overhead and glasses of champagne clink in celebration.

Instead I'm flat against a hospital bed, hooked up to a machine that beeps with every pulse of my heart. The other driver emerged out of nowhere. Just as we cross the intersection, and then my memory goes blank. The last thing I see is the bright white flash of headlights.

I awaken a few times, disoriented and pretty upset. Katniss is there, telling me to relax and that everything is okay. Her eyes are bloodshot and her makeup, her pretty makeup, ruined by tears. Each time I'm lulled back to sleep by the morphling drip in my veins. When I finally emerge from the fog, I'm alone. I scan the room which is filled with flowers. How have they gotten flowers so quickly? Or, more pressing, how long have I been I asleep? When my eyes adjust to the light I realize Peeta is in the chair next to my bed.

"How long have I been out?" I ask him, snapping his attention to me. He says something about taking it easy but I shake my head. Everything sounds like it is underwater but I need to know. "How long?"

"Just a day and a half. You've been coming in and out of it." He looks exhausted. I'm sure I look no better but I can't see myself. Has he been sleeping in that chair? The bags under his eyes are so large I think he's been  _living_ in that chair. "The doctors weren't sure you'd make it. Everyone else seemed sure, though."

"Katniss?"

He smiles. "She's fine. Shaken up and inconsolable since you couldn't stay awake but fine. And guilty." She'd been driving. I should've driven. But then she might have taken the impact. I guess it's okay. She isn't hurt, our baby was okay, so all in all a tragedy is averted. "She had to beg the doctors to let her stay here. She's been sleeping in the chair next to you." He pauses. "Your uh, friend, Nurse Finch? She somehow arranged for Katniss to be able to stay even though you guys aren't legally together."

Verbena. When will I stop owing her? Cressida told me that they went out on a few casual dates, so maybe that will work out and we can call it even. But I know the legal red tape that is involved in what she's done, and a bouquet of verbenas is not going to cut it. I run through Peeta's statement in my head again and my eyes widen. The ring. It isn't in my dress anymore; I'm dressed in one of those horrible paper napkin get-ups they put you in at the doctor's office.

"The ring," I say, looking to Peeta. "My ring. Where are my things?"

Peeta frowns and crosses the room, digging out my purse from a pile of gift baskets. One of them looks like it has a lot of exotic cheeses. I'm eager to try that one. Peeta hands the bag to me and put his hands in his pockets. "The ring is in there," he says. I look at him, furrowing my brow in confusion. "Katniss saw it."

"What?" I lean my head back against the pillow, closing my eyes to try and will my tears away. I don't want to cry. There's no reason to cry. I could've died, so the fact that Katniss knows I had an engagement ring in my bra isn't the end of the world. I sigh. "She doesn't like surprises anyway."

Peeta pulls the chair next to the bed and clasped his hands, stretching them out next to me. "You have my blessing."

"Huh?" I'm busy rummaging through my purse and between that distraction and the drugs, I'm not sure I heard him properly.

He takes my hand and holds it between both of his. "I want to be selfish. I want to tell you that you can't have her. I don't want you to get married because that means that my time with her is truly over." I bite my lip, swallowing down the toxic combination of anger and sadness that wells inside me. "But when she called me after the accident, she was broken. I've never heard her like that. She was so lost without you. And to think some useless ridiculous law was keeping hr from seeing you, it made me angry. Then I realized I was the reason you guys weren't married. I was the reason she couldn't see the woman she loves. I can't be the man. I want to move on, and I have to let her go."

"That ...that means a lot to me." I don't know what else to say. What do you say to someone giving up on the only person they love? Good luck? A woman comes in to my room, tall with bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks, interrupting my sad inner monologue. She looks very confused as she sees me in the bed, looking from me to Peeta. The rosiness in her cheeks doubles as she catches a glimpse of him. I look at Peeta, who is just as entranced.

It doesn't take a florist to see the buds of attraction. "I'm so sorry, I think I have the wrong room. I've been trying to find the maternity ward for ages. I was hoping I could find someone to help me a-and the door was open..."

I lift my hand. "Oh, it's no worry. My cousin Peeta here," I say, clarifying our relationship so she knows there's nothing going on, "was just trying to cheer me up. But uh, I think I'd like to take a nap. Perhaps you could help her out, cuz?"

For a split second he looks startled but he stands up, taking his jacket off the chair and running his fingers through his hair. "Oh sure. I'll see you tomorrow." He looks up at the girl, giving her a smile. "I know where the maternity ward is. It can be kind of confusing if you don't follow the storks." He walks around the foot of my bed and motions for her to walk first, his arm coming up in a friendly manner behind her to guide her out the door.

A few minutes later Katniss comes in, her makeup scrubbed off her face and changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater. Our eyes meet and hers immediately fill with tears as she rushes toward me. "You're awake! Did you tell the doctors? Where's Peeta? Why didn't he text me? How are you feeling?"

"Slow down there, partner," I say, lifting up my arm and cupping her face with my hand. "I'm awake. I didn't call the doctor yet. Peeta just left the room for a moment. He didn't text you because we had a little chat. I'm feeling much better but still like I got eaten by a dinosaur."

Katniss laughs a relieved laugh and sits on the edge of my bed. I haven't really assessed my injuries but it seems like just a lot of bruising. My head is wrapped in some gauze so I guess I hit my head, too. I shift my weight painfully over so she can lay the full length of her body against mine. The feeling of her arms curled around me makes any pain I may be in completely dissipate.

"I'm so sorry baby," Katniss apologizes into my hair, kissing my temple.

"It's not your fault." I lean into her embrace and sigh. "I'm sorry that our night got ruined. But." I dig in my purse and find the ring, holding it up into the light. "I can't exactly get down on one knee, but I'm hoping this will do." Katniss pulls away from me and simpers, her gray orbs glistening as they bore into mine. "I can't wait another fucking second. Will you please, for the love of all that is holy and unholy, marry me?"

With two tears streaming from her eyes she holds her hand out and I slide the ring on, the newly jeweled hand coming up to rest on my face. She pulls us together for a sweet kiss, conveying the emotion I know she is feeling inside. "Of course I will. Johanna Mason, I want nothing more than to be yours forever."

* * *

It started with a wedding so it's only fitting that it ends with a wedding.

Even though I've spent a lot of time at various weddings, I never really got into the spirit. It always was too over-the-top and unnecessary, people needing to declare their love with swan ice sculptures and chocolate fountains. To make a wedding perfect all you need is love, family, flowers, and a whole lotta booze. So we got married on the roof of Cressida's apartment building in lieu of a church, with decorations that my mother and I fashioned out of flowers. The only traditional part of the wedding we kept is the flower girl; I couldn't exactly deny Prim the honor.

Neither of us get walked down the aisle. We merely stand in front of the non-denominational priest and say our vows. We wrote them ourselves, but I won't bore you with the specifics. Just know that there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Our first kiss as spouses is showered in rose petals and tastes like the vodka shots we had to get over our pre-wedding jitters. The sun is setting over the other high-rises as my lips meet hers in our first kiss as a married couple.

There are no speeches, no grand dances. The music starts playing and the drinks start flowing. Oliver dances on his thick little toddler's legs, held up by Jack who is feeling pretty sturdy at three years old. Finnick whirls Prim around the dance floor just like he had the day we met, when I was fishing Katniss's wedding band out of a punch bowl. Hank and Michelle raise their glasses to us.

After finally getting Cressida to stop dancing with me, I find my wife near the punch bowl again, swirling around the ladle in the bowl. "Whatcha doin'?" I ask, grinning at her. The first time I slipped a ring on her finger I said the same thing before putting the slimy band back on her hand. My smile falls as she looks at me, totally panicked. "Oh you're not serious. You didn't...not again."

Katniss grins and produces her hand from her side, showing the gleaming gold band around her finger. "Gotcha!" She throws her arms around my shoulders, lacing her fingers around the back of my neck. "This has been the most incredible day of my life. But I can't wait for this to be over."

I raise my eyebrow at her in disbelief. We worked really hard on this wedding, taking on all the preparations ourselves. "Really?"

She nods, leaning down to capture my lips in a kiss that quite literally robs my lungs of their air. She pulls away, eyes heavy and a smirk on her features. "I want to get started on our honeymoon. I want to start the rest of our lives."

"Oh do you now?" I ask, wrapping my arms around her waist and holding her tightly to me. Without much thought we begin swaying to the music. I place my head on her shoulder and breathe in her scent. "Why is that, Mrs. Mason?"

"Because, Mrs. Mason." She pulls back from me and cups the sides of my face, giving me that stare that makes me feel like the only person on the planet. "Remember when I thought you and I had met before?" I nod, remembering the night they brought me over for dinner.  _I'd have sought you out in every life_. "I can't shake that feeling. And it feels like I'm finally getting to live the life that all my other lives wanted to live and didn't. I'm finally with the person I was meant for. Like my heart is finally rested, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

 


End file.
